


Battered Souls

by Alkeni



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Charmed (TV)
Genre: Damaged People Finding Meaning, F/F, F/M, Gen, Healing, More character tags to come when the characters arrive in-fic, Redemption is a Hard Road, Starts Late S3 for Angel, Starts late-S6 for Buffy, Starts post-S4 for Charmed, Themes of drug addiction, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6828256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alkeni/pseuds/Alkeni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley. Faith. Amy. Three souls, each battered by their experiences - failures, betrayals, offenses. Each in desperate need of connection, of healing. In the aftermath of losing Connor, Wesley makes a choice that changes the lives of all three - and together, they find a chance to heal, to make up for their mistakes, their errors, their failures. They find this chance in San Fransisco - the home of three sisters named Halliwell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For Good Behavior

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series. Or Charmed.

 **Author's Note:** I'd like to thank anyone who picks this fic up in advance. I appreciate that Faith and Amy as a pairing is probably not something you ship (though if you're coming to this fic having read my Iron Coin Chronicles fics and enjoying the Faimy there, welcome!), since it's quite the rare pairing, but I hope to make it worth your while.  
  
It will take a bit before we introduce Amy as a character, however. And for a story that will focus on Faith and Amy, I'm going to start with Wesley. I would ask for your indulgence – this will make sense. I promise. It will also take a few chapters to get to the Charmed-side of the fic, but its gonna be a big part of the story, so no sense in false advertising

This fic starts after the events of “A New World” (Angel 3x20) and after the events of “Entropy” (Buffy 6x18). The timing is a wee bit fuzzy, since by that point in both shows, the episodes are kind of happening one right after the other, with little in between them, but not so fuzzy that it can't be worked with.

Thanks are extended to deiticlast and danielholtz (or whatever tumblr URL she's using today :p) for beta-reading and letting me bounce ideas off of them.

Battered Souls

By Alkeni

Chapter 1: For Good Behavior

**May 1 st, 2002**

**Wesley's Apartment, Los Angeles**

When Wesley opened the door to his apartment, he'd expected that the person on the other side would be Lilah, back to try and tempt him into working for Wolfram and Hart now that he was technically a free agent. She'd obviously known from the start it was going to be a process. First, she'd brought him that copy of _Dante's Inferno_ _– t_ he intent made plain when she'd told him not to think he was too good to work for her company – and now? Well, who knew what she'd try next?

He knew he'd let her in, even if she had no chance of acquiring his services for her firm. She seemed to be the only human contact he was likely to have in the near future.

But it wasn't her. It wasn't even one of his former friends here to hypocritically beg for his help because they were too incompetent to handle demons on their own. It was a man he recognized immediately, but hadn't seen in four years: Quentin Travers. The older man looked him over carefully, one eyebrow raised slightly, and Wesley instantly felt a little self-conscious about his unshaven face and slightly unkempt appearance.

“I see your time in America has indeed changed you, Wesley,” Travers observed mildly. “I do hope that they haven't eroded your manners though.”  
  
“Oh, yes of course,” Wesley said after a moment of standing there in stunned shock. Of all the people he'd have ever expected to see at the door, Travers was not among them. Stepping aside, he allowed Travers to walk into the apartment and closed the door behind the man. He wasn't a Watcher anymore, and his years apart from the organization had allowed him to come to terms with just how many flaws it actually had – but still, he couldn't help but have a certain fundamental – probably ingrained – respect for the institution, and Travers was the leader of that institution.

So, despite himself, Wesley had some respect for the man.

“Can I get you some tea?” He offered, even as his mind raced, wondering what the hell it was that Travers was doing here. The only thing he could think of was that Travers was here to offer him a job, but that was virtually impossible. But why else might the man have come all the way here from London?

“Not at the moment, thank you,” Travers replied, holding up a hand. He looked around the room, and Wesley was at least able to take satisfaction in the fact that the room wasn't a mess – he really didn't have enough in the way of possessions to leave a lot of physical detritus lying around.

“I'm sure you're wondering why I've come,” Travers began, dryly stating the obvious, “so I'll get to the point: I'm here because the Council would like to hire you once again – bring you back into the fold.”

Wesley couldn't believe it. Well, he could believe that Travers was telling the truth. The man was manipulative and protective of his own power, prestige, and position, but he wasn't a liar. So either the head of the Council was playing some sort of very deep game, or the Council was extremely hard up for manpower. According to his father, the name of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce was still something of a laughingstock in the closed social community that was the Council and the families of its members. Fortunately, as far as Wesley knew, only a few people in the Council knew about the fact that he'd turned down the retrieval team's offer and sided with Angel against them. His father, thank the various and sundry gods, was not among them.

But Travers did know. So what in the name of all that was holy would have convinced the older man to want to hire him? And why would he think that Wesley would accept? Wesley had rather burnt all of his bridges behind him – quite decisively.

The answer came to him quickly, of course. Somehow, Travers (and the Council) knew about his recent... estrangement from his former friends. From Angel. And they were assuming that he was desperate enough to accept it.

 _Not likely._  
  
“I don't know what assumptions of desperation you and the Council have made about me, but I'm not going to take a position as some back-room researcher and translator because you want to appease my father-” Wesley said stiffly, wanting to make his position clear. He still had some pride, and while he had no idea what he was going to do with his life now – if he had much to do at all – but it wasn't going to be a life where he was shuffled off into a dark corner.

Travers cleared his throat and interrupted, seemingly unfazed by Wesley's attempt at rejecting him. “Wesley, I have nothing of the sort in mind for you. You've done quite well for yourself in Los Angeles: proven than under the right circumstances, you have many diverse talents. I did select you to be the replacement for Rupert Giles for a reason, and while I didn't expect things to go the way they did, it would seem I was right about your usefulness to the cause of fighting evil. No, the job I have in mind for you would be far more hands-on.” He held up a hand again, as if to forestall Wesley's next objection: “Nothing that involves Angel or his compatriots. What I have in mind for you is a Slayer.”

“Even you can't be foolish enough to think assigning me to Miss Summers. And last I checked, Faith was still alive and in prison, so you can't be assigning me to her replacement – and if you're about to kill Faith to generate such a replacement, I want no part of it.” Faith didn't deserve to be killed. She'd turned herself in. Angel had always confirmed that her desire to repent seemed genuine. As long as Buffy was active, there wasn't even a coldly rational logic to killing her. That said, Wesley was a little surprised the Council hadn't tried to kill her already, but then perhaps even they had limits to what they were willing to do.  
  
“Killing a Slayer is always a last resort. And given the recent assessment by the new psychiatrist for the penitentiary she's incarcerated at, it's a resort we need not take. Miss Lehane seems genuinely repentant, and desires a way to make up for her crimes. The Council has already arranged for her release,” Travers replied flatly. Under any other circumstances, from the mouth of nearly any other man, Wesley would have immediately assumed such insane news was some sort of strange joke.  
  
Shaking his head in surprise, Wesley pondered the implications of what Travers was saying... they were quite darkly hilarious on their own. Despite himself, Wesley chuckled for a moment, then winced as pain cut through him. Would he ever be able to find amusement without his injury hurting more? A good question that he had no answer to.

“You want me,” Wesley started slowly after the pain ebbed a little, “to be Faith's watcher again. Have you forgotten what she did to me?”

“No. But you seemed willing to defend her against our retrieval team regardless,” Travers pointed out calmly.  
  
“Because I trusted Angel, not because I was forgiving her.” Wesley had no interest in forgiving her. He didn't hold much direct resentment against her anymore – most of his available stores of that were being directed at others – but that wasn't the same. He couldn't avoid the undercurrent of anger in his voice – though anger at Travers or at Faith he couldn't be sure.  
  
“Well, according to her therapist, making up her offenses against you is one of the things she wants to set right first, right alongside a similar effort for Miss Summers,” Travers replied with a level tone, as if unaffected by Wesley's anger. “Which means you're far more likely to get any traction with her than anyone else.”

“I do recall being _fired_ for mismanaging her,” Wesley pointed out. And rightly so. He'd been a rotten Watcher. In theory, with a fresh Slayer, he'd have a better idea what not to do, but to Watch for Faith? No. Wesley couldn't even imagine that.

“Miss Lehane is unruly, willful and disruptive, to put it mildly. I can't imagine that there is anyone else we could assign to her, apart from perhaps Rupert Giles, that would have any chance to make headway with her, and Giles is still assigned to Miss Summers. She badly wants your forgiveness. That gives you a chance with her. I don't expect you to be able to simply order her around, but we will be releasing her – a repentant Slayer in prison does nobody any good. She'll need some kind of Watcher to aid her – research, training, much as you'd expect.”

Travers reached into his coat and handed Wesley a tri-folded piece of paper. “Her release will be tomorrow. She's as yet unaware of it.” Wesley unfolded the paper. It was a copy of a governor's pardon for Faith. The whys and wherefores of the pardon were obvious legal nonsense to anyone who knew a thing about what Faith had done, but that wasn't exactly the point here, now was it? “If you'd like, you can be the one to deliver her the good news, or not. You can simply speak with her and make your choice from there. I have the real paperwork, and the prison authorities should know by now as well.”

Wesley couldn't admit that part of him was tempted by the idea. He'd been raised to be a Watcher all his life, and for the chance to be one again, to a Slayer...

If Faith was truly repentant... well, what was a little discomfort against the good he could do by helping her? And... his life here in Los Angeles was essentially over anyway. A chance to start fresh...

But with Faith?

It would have to come down to her, he supposed.

“I'll speak with her. Then I'll know if I trust her. You really trust the word of your psychiatrist? She's truly repentant?” He wanted to believe it...

If the Council was going to release her anyway...

 _Am I really contemplating this?_ But what else did he have? Hang around in Los Angeles while Lilah continued to try to corrupt him as he waited for the slim chance something bad enough would happen that his former friends would need his help and come to him for it? He had nowhere else to go, so any leaving would be aimless, without any goal or purpose.

“I'll speak with her,” he said again, more firmly. He tried to ignore the self-superior look on Travers's face. The man had known he'd make this choice. He'd come prepared for it.

**May 1 st, 2002**

**Stockton Women's Prison, Stockton**

Faith stared blankly at the empty page in front of her. The entirely empty 'journal'. The new prison shrink had given it to her last week. Well, she wasn't new anymore – Jessica “Call me Jess” Dormer had arrived a few months ago to be the new psychiatrist for the place, and Faith had been dragged before her just like the last one.  
  
Only Jess was actually something resembling decent at her job. Faith wasn't sure how the other woman had done it, but she'd gotten Faith to open up. Faith kinda hated it, being so open, telling another person just how much she wanted to make up for her crimes. But not just the crimes she'd been put away for – those too, the murders, the assaults... she wanted to make up for those too.  
  
But what she really wanted to make up for was the people she'd hurt that had, really, been trying to help her. She'd patched things up with Angel easily enough – Angel had been her damn sponsor, for fuck's sake. But everyone else...

She'd fucking tried to _rape_ Xander, even if she hadn't really gotten it at the time. Sure, his whole assumption of a connection after their one fuck was stupid, but he'd just been trying to help her. And then there was kidnapping Willow and threatening to kill her and getting damn close to it.

And then there was what she'd done to Wesley and Buffy. Sure, Wesley had been a shitty Watcher, but he'd been trying. And before she'd dragged him away to cut him up, he'd actually been trying to talk her down. He'd been trying, in his flagpole-rammed-up-his-English-Channel sort of way, to help her. To try to get through to her.  
  
Instead, she'd just spent a few hours beating the crap out of him and then cutting at him with broken glass. Every time she remembered what she'd done to him, it made her feel sick inside. She'd known exactly what she was doing, what to do to make it hurt the most, but keep him conscious so he could feel it all. And even after all she'd done, he still defended her against those goons the Council sent to get rid of her.

 _I mean, yeah, he did it because of Angel, not me, but still..._ Faith wasn't sure she'd have done the reverse even before she'd gone overboard; gone evil because it had seemed the only sane option at the time, in a world that had stopped making sense.

Nowadays... well, she didn't know. Wouldn't know. At least not until her parole came up, in thirty years. And somehow she figured she'd miss that. But who knew.

She regretted what she did to Wesley – torturing him, ruining his life... Sure, Angel had always said Wesley fit into the group like that last missing puzzle piece. He was happy. But still, the guy had been a Watcher. Kind of a big deal that she'd gotten him fired from it. And really, Wes hadn't done anything to deserve it. At most he'd been kinda... useless. That's all. Useless wasn't enough for torture. Nothing was.

And then there was Buffy. What she'd done to B was so much worse. Even ignoring everything before the Coma... stealing her body, fucking her boyfriend? All kinds of fucked up. Buffy had tried to help her. Buffy had tried to pull her back from the brink, and instead all Faith had done was lash out, resent her, be jealous of her.

 _This was supposed to be my town!_ Instead, all she'd done was alienate the only person who might have been able to understand her – the only person like her. Only other Slayer. B wasn't the same as her, but they were the Chosen Two. That should have meant something.

_Only I fucked that up like I did so many things._

Idly, Faith had occasionally wondered how things would have gone if B hadn't been so fucking straight. Maybe nothing... maybe not. If there'd been that... extra, maybe that would have been something to hold to. And maybe not. Faith had certainly been interested, but B... well, Faith just didn't have the right parts to get the girl's attention. Hadn't been the first time Faith had crushed on a straight girl – hell, she'd gone after a guy who'd turned out to be gay once, so she'd done it all, hadn't she?

It was a moot point though. Faith had gone over the rails, turned on Buffy and then, in the end, fucking... _violated_ her in ways that it had taken Faith too long to really understand. She'd just been focused on the idea of stealing what she'd seen as Buffy's perfect life. She'd been too consumed with herself, with trying to find stability, that she didn't consider other options. Buffy had almost been willing for a few seconds there to consider giving her a second chance, and Faith had said 'fuck it' and stolen her body instead.

As she'd told that shrink just a few weeks ago, the two people in the world she most wanted to somehow make things up to were Wesley and Buffy.

 _Not that there's any way to make it up to either of them, really._ Not that Faith could figure out, anyway. Especially not from in here. But she needed to stay here. She deserved it. At least she could prove to them – to Angel and to herself too – that she could take responsibility...

Faith shoved the empty journal aside, dropping the ballpoint pen onto it. This was why she hadn't wanted the damn thing. She didn't need more time for introspection. She had enough of that shit as it was. Giving her a journal to write her thoughts down in was only gonna make it worse.

Wanting a change of topic, Faith got up and grabbed the copy of _The Two Towers_ that she'd checked out from the prison library last week. She'd read the whole Lord of the Rings Trilogy her first year in here, grabbing the first one by accident, but getting completely engrossed in the world and the story. Now she was reading the series a second time, because why the hell not?

Opening the book to the dog-eared page she'd last stopped on, Faith leaned against the wall as she sat on her bed and read.

She was interrupted a while later by the sound of someone rapping their baton on the bars of her cell door lightly. She looked up to see Eddie standing there, a loop of keys in one hand. “Come on,” he told her, his tone direct but a little friendly, as usual. As far as guards at this place went, Eddie was pretty decent.

“Already had my yard time today,” Faith pointed out.

“You've got a visitor,” Eddie told her.

Faith was on her feet and at the cell door immediately. “Angel?” Despite herself, she couldn't hide the combination of eager anticipation and relief in her voice. It had been months since the last time he'd visited, and he was the only visitor she'd ever gotten here. She'd just figured he'd been too busy with all his stuff in L.A. to come by as often as he had the year before – last time he'd come by he'd told her about how those bastards at that law firm had used Cordelia to get him to break some evil bastard out of some prison in another dimension.

She had no idea what was going on in Sunnydale anymore. She had gotten a letter from Giles of all people a week later, terse and to the point, telling him that Buffy was alive once more, that Willow had brought her back from the dead.

That had been a relief when it had happened. It had been a bad week when Faith had felt Buffy's death - one night she'd just woken up in a cold sweat and _known_. Angel had confirmed it during that visit.

“Some English dude; says he works with your buddy Angel,” Eddie explained, and Faith felt her throat tighten. There was only one person that could be: Wesley.

Why would Wesley be visiting her?

 _Oh god... Something's happened to Angel._ That was the only reason Wesley would come all the way up here. Faith closed her eyes for a moment, bracing herself for what had to be the truth. She'd find out when she talked to him. And if whatever demon or vamp had killed Angel was still alive -

Well, Faith was only still in this cell because she wanted to be. She'd take care of that fucker, then turn herself back in.

“Alright.” She nodded after a moment. Eddie looked at her weird for a second, then opened the cell door and let her out.  
  
It wasn't that long a walk to get to the visitation room, and sure enough, on the other side of the glass was Wesley. She almost didn't recognize him. He looked like he hadn't shaved in days, which was a total change. His hair was longer, unkempt. He carried himself differently, ready to move at a moment's notice, aware of everything around him.

 _I probably did that to him,_ she thought, as she swallowed the rising lump in her throat.

He wasn't even dressed like she'd have expected – no suit and tie get-up. He was wearing a black long coat over a red shirt – looked pretty casual.

And then there was the hard-to-miss scar on his throat. Partially healed, but it must have been nasty when it happened to still look like that.

_I didn't give him that._

Faith picked up the phone as she sat down. “I was trying to figure what might bring you all the way out here to visit me, Wes,” Faith said slowly, part of her wanting to push back the inevitable news she just knew was coming.

“And did you come to any conclusions?” Wesley asked in a soft, almost raspy voice. His tone was flat.

“Only reason I can figure is that something happened to Angel. So lay it on me.” She took a slow, steadying breath, readying herself for the news.

“As far as I know, Angel and everyone else are just fine,” Wesley replied, still flat.

“Far as you know? I thought you ended up being in charge of the whole 'Angel Investigations' gig.” Angel had mentioned that in passing, a few visits ago.  
  
“There was a... falling out, as it were. Rather too long to get into here,” Wesley told her, and this time she could pick up the bitter resentment in his words. Whatever his 'falling out' with Angel was, Wesley was bitter about it.

 _Falling out? Would have to have been something pretty big._ Faith would have figured Wesley would have stayed with the guy till the end of the world. Hell, she'd half expected to find out one day that Wesley wanted to get inside Angel's pants.

“Then why are you here? No need to pretend it's because you're concerned about how I'm doing.” She swallowed, her throat dry and tight. She'd just been thinking – again – about what she'd done to Wes, and now here he was. “Not after... after everything,” She couldn't even say it. How pathetic was that?  
  
“If you want me to say that you're forgiven for torturing me,” Wesley said, his tone flat again, “I'm afraid I can't do that. Not now, anyway.” Even though she knew how stupid it was, Faith latched onto that 'not now'. Maybe that meant he could, some day?

Faith nodded slowly. “Kinda figured. So what's this about?”

Wesley reached into his coat and retrieved a piece of paper, which he unfolded and held up, pressing it against the glass.

Faith's eyes caught a few things pretty quick – the word 'Pardon' and her name. Looked pretty official too.

 _Pardon? For me?_ Wasn't like part of her didn't want out of this cell, the legal way. Being in prison was shitty however you looked at it. But – why... how?

“The Watchers' Council has decided that you're doing no one any good locked up in here, rather than out in the world, fighting evil. And since they've decided you're genuinely repentant...” His voice trailed off. Whatever the tea and crumpet brigade believed, it was pretty clear Wes wasn't so sure.

But what the hell made those assholes think it? She was – but they weren't anywhere near here. They'd had no way of knowing unless...

 _That **bitch**_. The shrink was working for them. Only explanation.

 _Didn't ask to be fucking spied on. What the hell happened to that confidentiality bullshit?_ Not that really applied to a prison shrink as far as Faith knew, but still.

“And what's that got to do with you?” Faith asked. And what did the Council want with her? She didn't trust those bastards one bit, not the way they'd tried to kill her.

Wesley chuckled darkly, then winced a little, one hand starting to go to his throat, but he stopped himself.  
  
“The Council has arranged for your release. The Warden already knows by now. I don't know how they arranged for the Governor to pardon you, and I'm not sure I want to. But you will be let out before the end of the day. The reason I'm here is because the Council seems to think I'd be a good fit as your Watcher.” The skepticism in Wes' tone was thick enough to drive a stake into, far as Faith could tell. But he was all the way out here, so obviously he wanted to find out for sure. Or maybe just taunt her.

Faith's head started to hurt with the craziness of it all. If that shrink was working for the Council, then they knew about how much she wanted to make things up to Wes, somehow... if there was even a way.

But if the Council knew, then that was probably why they thought Wesley should be her Watcher.

“You don't sound too sure.”

“I was a rather rotten Watcher, Faith,” Wesley pointed out dryly.

Faith shrugged. “I was a pretty shitty Slayer. And...” She looked him over. “Well, you're looking pretty different from the last time I saw you. Angel didn't really tell me much about you when he was visiting, but it always sounded like you were doing a lot better.” Hell, Wes had grown a spine between his time in Sunnydale and when she'd run into him in L.A. Seemed like he'd done a lot more than that since.

Faith wasn't even sure she even wanted out. She didn't deserve it, did she? _I mean, really..._ Yeah, there was the whole 'doing good, earning redemption by fighting the good fight' shit that Angel was up to, but...

But Faith knew enough about the law to know that if she'd been pardoned, the prison couldn't just keep her in there.

“That's not the most encouraging of things you could have said,” Wesley pointed out.

“What do you want me to say, Wesley?” Faith asked, rolling her eyes. “If we do do this, it's gonna be fucking weird from the word 'go,' after what I –“ She swallowed, “...after what I did to you.” Her breath caught for a moment, then she went on, “But if I'm gonna be out of here either way, I'm gonna go back to the slaying. Fight the good fight.” She saw the recognition in Wesley's expression. He knew the phrase. “And if I do that... I'm gonna need someone to handle the research.” She knew it came out a little pathetic, half-hearted.  
  
And it kind of was. On the one hand, the chance to make it work with Wesley was something she wanted to leap at. Prove to him she'd changed. Somehow make things up to him eventually.

On the other hand...

 _Fucking weird._ And, well, it would also depend on just what kind of Watcher Wes was expecting to be.

“Honesty, at least,” Wesley observed, then let out a breath. “You're being released regardless,” he added in a resigned tone. “I admit, the idea has its advantages and appeal. But as you say, it would be 'weird', to put it mildly. How about we try it for a week or so? If it doesn't work out, we'll go our separate ways.”

 _Making it sound like we're about to start dating._ Faith didn't vocalize that. “And you're not shitting me. I'm getting let out today?” The paperwork looked all official and shit, but it sounded too good to be true. Too simple. “And the Council what, just wants me to slay? That's it?”

“I believe Quentin Travers may be embracing new ideas. A strange concept, I know, but given the Council's failures in recent years, well-warranted. As long as you're fighting, they seem to be willing to give you as much latitude as you need.” Wesley chuckled, “he even mentioned giving you a paycheck.”

Faith sat there in silence for about a minute, chewing over that. Chewing over everything really. She'd kinda like more time to make her choice, but she didn't have it. Not really.  
  
“A paycheck?” Faith said, laughing just a little, “That'd be a change of pace. Is B gonna get one too?”  
  
“I didn't ask. I'm sure you could always mention it to her, so she could demand one.” Wesley nodded.  
  
“Well, how can I turn all that down?” Faith asked rhetorically. She took a breath and let it out, “We do this Wes... I want to know about what happened between you and Angel,” she added more softly, wondering if it was going to be a deal breaker. She needed to know – know what had made Wesley turn on Angel, or made Angel turn on Wesley... Something had to have happened. Something big.  
  
Wesley hesitated, then slowly, he nodded. “Alright.”

“And we're going to Sunnydale, at least to start,” Faith said firmly. “I've got a lot to things to make up for... people to make up to. Buffy's right at the top of that list.” How she was gonna do that, she had no clue, but she had to try. Had to at least give the other woman a real apology.

Though, as much as she knew she wanted it – needed it – she didn't think she was going to be getting Buffy's forgiveness anytime soon.


	2. A Chance Arrival

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Buffy, I don't own Angel. I do own a laptop and too many D &D books, if you wanna sue me for those. :p

A scene in this chapter was probably inspired by a similar scene in mmooch's “In Love With the Slayer's Son”. I didn't deliberately do it, but I had just reread the fic a few days before I started mapping this story out, and then I realized the similarity. So let's give credit where credit is probably due, and credit mmooch with inspiring that scene.  
  
Thanks are extended to dieticlast and Maria (who currently has the tumblr screenname @bisexualxanderharris, but will probably change it sometime in the next few weeks) for beta-reading services. ^^

Battered Souls

By Alkeni

Chapter 2: A Chance Arrival

**May 3 rd, 2002**

**Wesley's Car, En Route to Sunnydale**

Faith hadn't expected Wesley to let her crash on his couch. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to park her, but still. That had been a sign... some sort of trust, right? Maybe?

  
But on the other hand, Wesley had locked the door to his bedroom, and unless she missed her guess, he'd slept with one of those guns of his under his pillow...

It shouldn't have hurt to figure that, given what she'd done to him. But it did, just a little. Being forced to face the distrust. She could tell he was carrying the piece on him too, in that shoulder holster under his black coat.

But now they were headed to Sunnydale, Wesley's books and weapons packed up in the back of his car, pretty much everything else but a few sets of clothes left behind. It had seemed like Wesley was pretty eager to leave L.A. And now that he'd just spent the last hour of their drive to Sunnydale telling her the story of everything she'd missed since Angel had last visited her...  
  
It sounded like a bad movie plot-twist or something. Two vampires having a kid? Some time-traveling vampire hunter from Angel's past? Even for her life, it seemed impossible. _I guess I can see how Angel never had the time to drop by, dealing with all that shit._

Wesley told her about the prophecy he'd uncovered, efforts he'd made to confirm it, deny it. The story about him talking to some spirit possessing the statue of a hamburger had been funny, even though she'd managed to avoid laughing aloud as he related it.

_The Father Will Kill The Son_. On the one hand, like Wesley had originally been, Faith was incredulous. It was a crazy idea. Angel was a good guy. He wasn't gonna go around killing his own kid. But... if all the signs matched up. And then... and then there was the bit about how Angel's blood had been spiked with Connor's, and...

Well, it wasn't like Angel hadn't gone evil before. Faith hadn't been around for that, but she'd heard a few of the horror stories – Xander had been more than willing to share a few with her when he'd been all pissed off about Buffy keeping Angel coming back from Hell a secret.

“There are ways to remove a soul. Demons, spells, other kinds of curses,” Wesley told her. “I didn't think it would be Angel that killed Connor. The prophecy made me concerned, but... technically, Angelus is as much Connor's father as Angel is. I knew that if Angelus killed Connor, Angel would never be able to live with himself afterwards. So...”   
  
_So you took him and then lost him, getting your throat cut along the way._

“I get why you did it, now that you've gone and laid the whole damn thing out for me, but really Wes... why didn't you tell anyone else? Queen C, or that Gunn or that Fred girl you obviously have a torch for.” It had been pretty obvious to her – the way his voice had this sort of... 'if only' note to it when he talked about her. Sounded like he'd gone after her and it hadn't worked, or maybe this 'Gunn' fellow had gotten her instead.

  
...Assuming Faith was reading Wesley's expression and tone right, which she could be totally off about. She didn't think so: Wesley was pretty expressive when you really paid attention to the guy, as long as he wasn't trying to put up a nonreactive face the way he had when...

_Can't think about anything without it coming back to me torturing him..._

“I've tried to figure it out. I couldn't go and tell Angel that he was going to kill his own son. I don't think Fred would have believed me, and, Gunn... well...” he trailed off. “Cordelia was gone, off on vacation because Angel didn't want to see her happy with the Groosalugg, and...” Wesley trailed off again.

“I don't have a good answer. It seemed the logical choice at the time. Take the burden onto myself. There was so much going on, so many moving parts to the situation. Part of me wondered if they'd decide that killing Angel was the best way to keep Connor safe. I didn't want that to happen either. And I felt... isolated. Disconnected from the rest of the group. My own doing as much as anything else, I suppose, but I didn't feel like there was anyone I could confide the information in.”

Disconnected. Isolated. Faith could understand that. No one to turn to. Didn't make your stupid decisions any less stupid, but they did...

Faith's stupid decision, of course, had been running off and joining the Mayor. Wesley's had at least been good-intentioned. But she could hear the guilt in his voice, the self-recrimination.

“Now that you've heard the sorry story of how I betrayed Angel, what now? Given your loyalty to him...” Wesley trailed off bitterly.

“What? Am I gonna throw you out of this car or something? Run off?” Faith shook her head. “Wes, you tried to do the right thing and it went bad. I'm can't fucking judge you for that. And sounds like Angel and his buddies shouldn't be either.”

“I lost Angel's son. I don't blame him for being upset. I don't blame him for trying to kill me.”

Faith blinked. “He tried to kill you.” She couldn't believe it. No matter how pissed he got, no matter how much Wesley had fucked up – Angel wouldn't try to kill one of his own people. He hadn't even tried seriously to kill her, and she'd been his enemy, she'd...

“No. Angel wouldn't-” Faith protested.

  
“He tried to smother me with my pillow at the hospital, Faith,” Wesley replied, his voice low. “Maybe he wasn't planning to finish the job, but he certainly made a good show of it. I stole his son and lost him to his worst enemy. He has every right to hate me. There's nothing I can do to make up for that.”

“Pretty shitty attitude to have, Wes,” Faith said softly. She wanted to ask him if that's what he thought about what she'd done to him, done to Buffy, done in general, but if the answer was a definitive no, never...

She didn't want to hear that. God no. Faith looked away from him, out onto the road flying by them as they drove.

Redemption had to be possible, right? Faith wasn't much for religion, for God, but she'd seen enough demons and vampires to get that there had to be _something_ after you die, right? And if that was true... was she gonna end up in Hell? _Am I... damned and shit?_ If redemption wasn't possible...

But that couldn’t be it. You had to believe. Angel had believed – if there's no redemption, then what's the whole damn point?

“What, you think there's something I can do that can make up for it? Short of somehow breaking the laws of the dimensions and opening a way to the Quor-Toth to retrieve Angel's son, there's nothing I can do. And I did look. There's no way. I don't even know how that demon opened a way to Quor-Toth in the first place. He's never going to forgive me,” Wesley said, taking one hand off the wheel to pull it down across his face for a moment.

“Then what's the point?” Faith asked, still looking away from him, but seeing him out of the corner of his eye.

“I don't know,” Wesley admitted weakly. “I don't know. There doesn't seem to be much point, but I keep going.”

“Can't believe there's no point. I've gotta believe there's making up for things.” Faith wasn't so much talking to him as just... talking. She just had to say it, so she could believe it. “If there's no way to make up for the shit I did, ever, then why bother?” She laughed, though there was nothing actually funny about all this. She just needed...

_I don't even know_.

“I really don't know. Most religions speak of the idea of redemption, of accepting responsibility for your sins and then... moving on. Doing good, balancing the scales. Perhaps that's possible. But even if I can make up for it in a cosmic sense... I still won't be able to have my friends back. That part of my life is burnt to ashes and the ground salted behind me, it would seem.” Wesley took a deep breath and let it out. “And it would seem this drive has left me maudlin. I don't have an answer for you, Faith. I don't have one for myself. But... I suppose you are right.”

“You're gonna have to get better at these motivational speeches, Wes, if you're gonna be my Watcher,” Faith said after a silent moment, trying to force some humor into her voice. The topic needed to change.

  
“I'm afraid they didn't offer that class at the Academy,” Wesley replied dryly, accepting the topic change. “And I probably wouldn't have been able to fit it between Obscure Demonic Languages and Advanced Magical Theory anyway,”

“Now that you're working for them again, maybe you can mention it to them,” Faith replied. The air between them was still tense – a little awkward. But at least they could crack a few lines. Wesley really had changed since Sunnydale.

“I suppose it's worth considering,” Wesley agreed, then looked over at her. “We're going have to work out how this whole thing works between us, you know.”

“I'm not gonna just take orders from you, Wes,” Faith said, then closed her eyes, cursing herself for her instinctive response. “I mean – I'm not a 'take orders' sort of Slayer. But I'm not expecting some sort of father-daughter thing like B has with Giles.”

“I'm not _that_ much older than you, Faith,” Wesley replied. “Your expertise is in the Slaying, mine is in the research. I suppose that makes us equal partners, in this... job.”

“Job? So I am getting paid?”

“Once we've found a place to set up operation, the checks will arrive in the mail, apparently,” Wesley replied.

Faith couldn't help but smile just a little. It would be nice to be able to get paid, rather than living on what she could steal, or take from the vamps and demons she slayed. That had been a _fun_ existence, living out of that crap motel, eating only the shit she could scrounge up with what little she could put together.

“Well, we won't be staying in Sunnydale, I'm sure about that,” Faith said after a moment. “Not for long, anyway.” Even if B somehow forgave her, sharing a Hellmouth with her fellow Slayer was _not_ a good idea. Not the sort of experience anyone wanted to repeat.

“I would imagine not. But where to after that?” _Of course Wes wouldn't want to hang out with Buffy for long either._ At least they had that much in common.

“Maybe someplace a bit less bright all the time than sunny SoCal?” Faith suggested, then added, her voice barely above a mutter: “If I wasn't a Slayer, I'd be nothing but sunburn by now...”

**May 3 rd, 2002**

**1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale**

Wesley still knew Buffy's address. He'd been to this house, once, early in his tenure as Buffy's Watcher. She hadn't been there, and so he'd had a brief chat with Mrs. Summers. The woman had been friendly – she'd even made him a cup of hot cocoa, shared a few words of encouragement.

He'd been sorry to hear of her death. He'd been sorry to hear of Buffy's. But then she'd come back. That had always sit poorly with Wesley. People were supposed to stay dead. Breaking those kinds of natural laws... Well, it seemed to have worked. By all reports via the supernatural grapevine, the Slayer was active in Sunnydale. As active as ever, to be fully accurate.  
  
He could understand why her friends brought her back. And it wasn't as if he'd wanted her dead. But still...

Consequences had surely happened by now.

_This isn't why we're here._ He looked over at Faith, who was perched on the edge of her seat, her hand on the handle to open the car door. Her other hand was slowly clenching and unclenching in her lap.

They'd had an... awkward bit of conversation after their brief discussion on redemption, and then silence the rest of the way. And now they were finally here, and Faith didn't want to get out of the car. He supposed he couldn't blame her.

“It does tend to work better if you actually open the door,” Wesley informed her, then got out of the car himself. He heard Faith's door open a moment later, and then they were crossing the street to reach the front door, Faith deliberately lagging a little behind him. Trying to put this off.

Before they could climb the steps to the porch however, they heard the sound of footsteps on the sidewalk behind them.   
  
“Hey!” Wesley vaguely recognized the voice after a moment. Xander Harris. He saw Faith stiffen a little at the sound of his voice, but she turned slowly, and so Wesley followed suit. The young man looked much the same – a few years older, but still recognizably the same young man who had repeatedly mocked him the last time he'd been in Sunnydale. At the time, he'd had no regard for the man's contribution to the fight – he didn't even have a little magic – but he'd learned since that things were a little more complicated than that.  
  
He still didn't like young Mr. Harris though.

“Hey Xander,” Faith said slowly, her voice a little weak. Xander blinked, once, then twice, presumably in shock at their presence.

“Faith – and- and Wesley. To what do we owe the unexpected displeasure of you two showing up...?” Xander trailed off as is brain caught up with his mouth and he took a step back, pointing his finger towards Faith, sounding afraid, confused and angry. “How the hell are you – what are you doing out of prison?!”  
  
“I didn't break out, Xan,” Faith told him.

  
“So what, they just _let_ you out of your twenty-five to life? Pretty sure that's not how it works, Faith,” Xander replied harshly, then looked over at Wesley. “And- and- didn't she torture you? Like, a lot?” The 'so what the hell are you doing with her?' part didn't need to be stated.

_Not as if I haven't asked myself that question._ He had no good answer, apart from the fact that he had nothing else. He'd gone on his gut with Faith – he'd thought too much when it came to the prophecy, with what to do about Connor, and look where that had taken him. So this time he was trying the other thing.

“Faith was pardoned,” Wesley reached into his coat – and yes, in this weather he really should have rethought wearing it – and removed a copy of her pardon. He unfolded it and showed it to Xander. “She's back to being a Slayer.”

Faith gave him a slightly annoyed look then turned back to Xander. “Look, Xander, I get that I'm not... you know, welcome here. I just came by to talk with Buffy, and then Wes and I will be gone, alright? You won't have to worry about me.”

  
“Oh, not worrying about you? _Totally_ gonna happen,” Xander replied, rolling his eyes. “How do I know you're not here to hurt her, Faith? Last time you were in town, you did kind of -”

“Last time I was around, Buffy still beat me,” Faith pointed out. “She's always beaten me, when it comes down to it.” Her voice sounded a little hollow, worn down, but surprisingly there was no evident jealousy or anger. Faith seemed resigned to Buffy being able to best her in a fight.

Xander opened his mouth to object, then nodded, lowering his hand. “That's a good point. Watching Buffy kick your ass could be pretty fun. She's around back, I think.” He pointed to the side of the house. “After you two.”

“Charming as ever, Mr. Harris,” Wesley replied coolly. He wasn't especially surprised by the young man's hostility, but he could see how much it was bothering Faith. He didn't think she was surprised either, but she clearly didn’t like being spoken to like that. Who would?

_If she's going to be my Slayer, I should act like herWatcher._

This time, Faith took a deep breath the set off first, walking towards the back of the house. Wesley was on her heels, and he heard Xander walking behind him. If Faith and Buffy did get into a fight – well, there really wasn't much he could do. Buffy wouldn't kill Faith, that much was for sure...

_Well, if nothing else, I can shoot a bullet in the air._ He had no intention of actually shooting Buffy – gods no – but at the very least it would separate the two from fighting by the shock of the sound alone. One would hope, anyway.

They were around the back of the house quickly enough. Buffy was indeed there, poking at the bushes with a long stick, as if looking for something within. Faith drew up short, standing still, hesitant.

“You're the one who said you wanted to speak with her,” Wesley said quietly, wondering if he should say or do more, something... encouraging. He had no idea what it could be, however.

“I know,” Faith answered, just as quietly. Surprisingly, Xander said nothing, just standing off to the side and watching. But apparently, they hadn't been talking quietly enough for Buffy to not hear them. She turned, her eyes widening and lifting the stick up as if it was a sword or something. Wesley could already find two flaws in her grip, just at a glance. It would seem she still hadn't trained with swords much.

“Faith,” Buffy's tone was terse, aggressive, but not as hostile as Xander's had been.

“Buffy,” Faith responded, taking a hesitant step towards Buffy. “I- uh- I got let out of prison.”

“Obviously. Wanna tell me how that happened, what you're doing here, and with _Wesley_ of all people?” _Is her incredulity because I'm here, or because I'm with Faith?_ “Last time I checked, he was even less happy with you than I was.” _That would seem to answer that._ It wasn't as if Buffy was wrong, but throwing it in Faith's face – right on the heels of Xander doing the same and their own earlier discussion – was not helping anyway. If Faith was going to make up for what she did, she didn't need her misdeeds being constantly thrown in her face.

_Then perhaps you shouldn't have pointedly locked your door and slept with a gun under your pillow,_ a little voice pointed out to him. Wesley bit his lip for a moment, then stepped in, since Faith seemed be having trouble coming up with the right thing to say in these circumstances.  
  
“Faith was pardoned at the behest of the Council. She's...” Wesley still wasn't entirely comfortable around her, and he couldn't see him forgiving her what she did to him, not in any future he could foresee... but it was obvious to him that her desire to repent was genuine. “She's repentant. And doing no one any good staying in a prison cell.”

Buffy scoffed. “And what, you're her Watcher?”

“Yeah. He is,” Faith replied, her voice a little more firm. “Look, B, I know you don't want me here. After what I did, I don't – I don't blame you.” It sounded like she was saying something she'd rehearsed. He was familiar with the utility of that in situations when it was hard to find your voice. Rehearsed or not, Faith's words felt genuine.  
  
“Just – I'm just here...” She took another breath. “I wanted to apologize,” Faith said. “It's not enough – never gonna be enough. But... I have to say it. Never really got the chance to just apologize to you. For... turning on you, for working for the Mayor-” Wesley was surprised that Buffy was letting Faith keep talking like this, but perhaps she too had changed. Or maybe the heartfelt nature of what Faith was saying was getting to her.

  
“For stealing your body. And the other shit I did. We'd be here for hours if I listed off all the things wrong I did -” Faith trailed off, and looked at someone past Buffy, walking from around the fence of another house. It was an unfamiliar young man in a heavy black coat, a crazed look in his eyes, and he was holding a pistol.  
  
“Get down!” Faith lunged at Buffy – for Wesley, time seemed to slow down, to borrow the cliché. The man started ranting, but Wesley wasn't listening, his focus zeroed in on the armed human as he pulled his gun out of his shoulder holster.

A bullet flew from his gun, flying towards Buffy – Wesley saw it pass through Buffy's abdomen, clipping Faith's side just a little and then the two Slayers were on the ground. Wesley didn't have time to check on them. Another bullet flew through where Buffy had been, but before he could get off a third, Wesley had fired his own handgun, putting a bullet between the assailant's eyes.

Wesley holstered his gun and pulled out his cell phone, dialing 911 as he moved over towards where Buffy was lying on the ground, bleeding, Faith over her.   
  
“B – B- No! You don't get to die.”  
  
Wesley crouched. “She'll be fine, assuming she can get to the hospital in time.” He wasn't one hundred percent sure, but the site of the exit wound suggested no major organs had been hit. But he was going to settle for giving her some false hope.  
  
“I don't _feel_ fine, Wesley!” Buffy managed to get out.


	3. Temporary Duty

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Buffy the vampire Slayer. I don't own Angel the Series.

Thanks again to deiticlast and Maria ( @bisexualxanderharris ) from Tumblr for beta-reading services.

Battered Souls

By Alkeni

Chapter 3: Temporary Duty

**May 3 rd, 2002**

**1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale**

Waiting for the ambulance to arrive was not the most fun of experiences. Wesley only had a cursory experience with first aid, most of it in regards to demonic claws or antiquated weaponry, and also mostly on vampires – who didn't bleed a lot and didn't have much in the way of vital organs.   
  
Slayers were resilient. As long as they didn't bleed out, expire from internal injuries, or get an infection, a Slayer would recover from nearly anything.  
  
“Roll her onto her side,” Wesley told Faith. “You'll need to keep pressure on both sides of the wound.” He started to take off his coat – he didn't like the idea of getting blood on it, but his dry cleaning bills were rather secondary. Before he could get it off though, Xander was by their side, handing the yellow button-up shirt he'd been wearing over his T-shirt to Faith.

“Use this.” Xander's tone was direct, all business. As long as Buffy was in danger, his hostility towards Faith was going to be put aside. Faith took it and covered both sides of the bullet wound, pressing down hard.

Buffy's groans of pain turned into a sharp cry at the feeling of Faith's hands pressing so hard, but she didn't protest.  
  
“Buffy, how are you feeling?” Wesley asked clinically. “Are you feeling numb, or cold?”

“I got shot!” Buffy ground out, groaning again, squeezing her eyes shut. “How do you think I feel? It hurts like fucking _hell_.” Wesley wasn't sure he'd ever heard Buffy swear before – which drove home the severity of how much pain she was in, he supposed.

“That's good. The longer before you start going numb, the better. I think.”

“You _think?_ ” Faith replied, her words barbed and her voice almost like her old self.

“I'm not an expert in gunshot wounds, Faith,” Wesley protested, “And I wasn't exactly able to pay attention after I got shot. I was either unconscious or doped up on morphine the entire time.”

“You got _shot_? What the hell did you get up to in L.A. with Angel?” Xander shook his head in amazement, clearly trying to distract himself.  
  
“Zombie cop. It's a long story,” Wesley replied. Before he could say anything else, he heard two pairs of feet running towards them from behind. Standing and turning quickly, his hand flying under his coat towards his shoulder holster, he lowered it when he saw that one of the two young women running towards them was Miss Rosenberg. He nearly didn't recognize her, but it was the same young woman. He had no idea who the woman with long-blonde hair next to Willow was, but given that they were holding hands, he was going to go out on a limb and assume they were at the very least friends.

“Buffy!” Willow let go of the blonde's hand and rushed over to the Slayer. “What happened?!” She crouched by Buffy's body before realizing who it was that was holding onto Buffy's injury. “Faith?!” She was too concerned with Buffy to suddenly back away, but she was clearly thrown and possibly a little worried by Faith's presence.

  
“Yeah, I'm here. I'm outta prison. Let's get Buffy to the hospital and I can fill you all in then!” Faith snapped.

“Good point,” Willow agreed.   
  
“While we're waiting, could someone tell me who it was that I shot? I don't generally make a habit of killing humans.” Actually, Wesley hadn't killed any humans yet. He'd gotten close a few times, in his time in Los Angeles, but he'd never actually followed through.

The man had been an obvious threat, however, and so Wesley had responded accordingly. So killing him was the most rational solution to the threat he'd posed. _I should be bothered by killing him, at least a little._ But he wasn't bothered. Was it just an immediate lack of reaction due to the situation, or should he be concerned about his non-reaction? Wesley wasn't sure.

“That's Warren,” Xander explained. “Real nasty piece of work. Came up with a bunch of crazy plans for money and power over the last year and Buffy's messed up most of them. Last night he found some way to give himself some sort of super-strength. Tried to rob an armored truck, and Buffy stopped him. I guess he decided that was one time too many.”

“I humiliated him,” Buffy cut in.

“You really shouldn't be talking right now Buffy,” the blonde woman said, her voice soft but firm. The sound of an ambulance’s sirens going off in the distance reached their ears. They were on their way. Good. “Someone's going to have to go get Dawn,” she said, as if the thought was suddenly occurring to her.

“I'll drop by her school and get her once Buffy's in the ambulance,” Xander said. “I'm not leaving until then.” Wesley fully understood the sentiment, the need to remain here even he couldn't do anything to help directly.

It only took another minute until the ambulance arrived, followed closely by the police. They were about as useful as he'd expected them to be, but he told them the truth, while Faith stayed out of clear sight – she was pardoned, but neither of them wanted to really get into it with the police right now.

“I don't know who he is. He just came in, started shooting and I defend myself,” Wesley explained. He handed the officer his concealed carry permit – he'd had to ask for one of his old friends on the Council to make some calls to make that happen, but it had been a worthwhile bit of assistance. “Mr. Harris said his name was Warren?”

“Yeah. Warren Mears. Wanted for suspicion on a couple of robberies, maybe even a murder. Got his two bozo buddies in lockup now. They'll be the only ones shedding any tears over this loser,” the officer replied. “Look, this seems like a pretty textbook self-defense sort of thing, but until we get the paperwork through, it'd be best if you don't leave town, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce.”

“Understood.” That was unfortunate. On the other hand...

_Depending on the specifics of Buffy's injury, she might be out of commission for a few days. Faith could do with some practice on familiar territory._ He made a mental note to raise the possibility once they'd gotten that far.

“Am I good to go at the moment? Only I'd like to get to the hospital.”

“Yeah, you're good.” The officer closed his notebook and walked away. Wesley looked over to the others, who were watching the ambulance drive away, then walked towards them.

“I'll get Dawn,” Xander said, then as he started to walk away, he turned back, “Look uh... Thanks, Wesley. If you hadn't been here... I don't want to think about what could have happened. So... Thanks.” Wesley could pick up a hint of an implicit apology in the man's words.  
  
“You're welcome. Maybe you can fill me in on this Warren character some more, when we're at the hospital?” Yes, he was human, but even then, Buffy should have taken the threat he posed seriously. Beaten the fear of God into him a while ago, as it were, if he'd been a nuisance for as long as Xander had hinted.

“Sure,” Xander agreed, then continued on towards his car. Wesley turned to Willow and the other woman, Faith approaching as well.

“I can give you both a ride to the hospital, if you'd like?” Wesley offered.

“That'd be – thanks,” Willow said, taking a breath. Then, “Oh! I'm sorry. Tara, this is Wesley. Wesley, this is Tara. He works with Angel in L.A. Used to be a Watcher...”

“A pleasure to meet you.” Wesley extended a hand, and Tara shook it. “And, actually, I'm a Watcher again. Faith's Watcher.” He noticed Willow hadn't introduced Tara and Faith to each other. “Did you meet Faith last time she was in Sunnydale?”  
  
“When I was... in B's body, yeah,” Faith said after a moment. “I was kind of an ass to her too.” She looked over at Tara. “Sorry.”

“It's okay. It's been a few years,” Tara said after a moment. “It's nice to meet you, Wesley,” Tara added. “We should probably get to the hospital now though...”

“Of course. This way.” He gestured to his car.

**May 3 rd, 2002**

**Sunnydale General, Sunnydale**

Faith hated hospitals. Always had, always would. They were so... sterile, and there was this sort of oppressive feeling when you sat in the waiting room, waiting for news. It had been that way when her mom went into an overdose-induced coma when she was eight, and sitting here in the waiting room now just made her go back to that moment.

The small injury she had from that Warren guy's bullet grazing her side was already done bleeding, and so she was just fine passing the blood on her shirt off as being from Amy.

“So...” Willow started slowly, “How did you get out of prison?” she finished hesitantly, the whole question coming out kinda awkward. Faith didn't really think there was a non-awkward way to get it out, though.

“I, uh- I got pardoned. Those bas-” She cut herself off. They had just gotten her out of prison, and they were gonna give her a paycheck. She probably shouldn't be calling them bastards. Being a good person and all probably included appreciating help when it came. _Still doesn't mean I have to like them, though._

“The Council decided I should be allowed to do the whole Slaying thing. So they got me a pardon. And I – I figure... maybe I can try and balance the scales or something like that. Fight the good fight...”

“Like Angel,” Willow said, and Faith nodded. It wasn't a hard connection to make, for anyone. That was what he was doing. She could probably pick a lot worse people to copy than Angel.

“I just came to Sunnydale to apologize to B,” Faith finished. “I hurt a lot of people, did a lot of bad... bad things, after I killed Finch. After I...” she trailed off, not really wanting to finish it. “But she's the one I hurt the most, screwed with the most.”

“Well, if you and Wesley hadn't been here... Buffy might not be,” Tara pointed out. “So, I guess you and your Watcher picked the right time to come up.” At the mention of Wesley – and of him being her Watcher – Willow opened her mouth, probably to ask the question Xander had asked earlier. She didn't really need to hear 'didn't you torture him?' question again. So instead, she interrupted.

“Speaking of Watchers, where's Giles? Shouldn't someone have called and told him that Buffy was hurt?” Tara and Willow looked at each other, then back to her, Willow opening, then shutting her mouth. “Is something wrong? Is Giles alright?” Giles she'd liked, back then. Always resented that Buffy had gotten that guy, the bond they had. Along with all the other things she'd resented about Buffy.

“He's alright, far as we know,” Willow answered, sounding a little angry. “He's in England. Skipped town a few weeks after- after we brought Buffy back from the dead.”

“You're shitting me.” Giles would never abandon B like some absentee father.

“No- he left.” Tara nodded. “He said it was because Buffy was relying on him too much, using him as an excuse to not handle her own responsibilities.” It was hard to tell – Faith didn't exactly know her enough – but it sounded like Tara was a little skeptical of Giles's logic. Which didn't even seem a little logical to Faith.

“He's her Watcher. His whole damn job is to help Buffy with her responsibilities,” Faith pointed out. What the hell was Giles thinking, just abandoning Buffy? _I mean, forget about the fact that he's gotta help her with the demon-identifying and all that crap,_ _but_ _they've got this whole father-daughter thing going. In a non-kinky way._ Faith felt like she needed a whole bottle of Jack Daniels after that last thought came to mind. She did not need to be thinking about Buffy and Giles like that. At all.

“Yeah. Well. Tell that to him,” Willow muttered. Before anyone could say anything else, Faith had another voice she hadn't heard in years.

“Where is she!? Is she okay? What happened?” Buffy's kid sister, Dawn, came running into the waiting room, Xander close behind her. Dawn nearly tackled Tara, holding onto her tightly.   
  
“We don't know how she is yet, Dawnie.” Tara told her softly. “But the paramedics said it looked like a clean shot.” The blonde wrapped her arms around Dawn for a moment, returning the hug.

“We do know now,” Wesley said, coming over from the desk. “They're stitching her up now. No internal injuries. But she's still out from the drugs they gave her, so it'll be some time before you can see her, Miss Summers,” Wes said to Dawn.

Dawn pulled away from Tara and looked over to Wesley, then, to the surprise of probably everyone, she gave him a quick hug.

“I know I was a total brat last time you were in Sunnydale, but you just saved Buffy's life, so... Thank you,” Dawn told him, then she turned to Faith.

Bracing herself for more hostility – she had held a knife to Dawn, right before that fight where she'd stolen Buffy's body – Faith nodded. “Dawn.” Calling her 'Little D' again didn't really seem appropriate right now.

“Faith. You're uh – not gonna try holding any knifes to my neck, right? You're one of the good guys now, right?”

“Working on it,” Faith answered after a long silent moment.

“Good!” Dawn said. “Because I liked you before you went all evil, and it'd be nice to like you again. You're pretty cool.” She smiled, and Faith could tell it was forced, but it was also a peace offering. Faith took it with both hands.

A half-forced, half-genuine smile formed on her lips. “Dawn, you know I'm _damn_ cool.” Then she looked down at herself. “Admittedly, I kind of need to hit the stores so I can get my dress sense back.” Wesley had given her a few things he'd picked up from a local teen shelter in L.A. They fit, mostly, and they weren't the worst things in the world to wear, but she didn't usually wear jeans or shirts cut quite like this, and she didn't like the sort of off-white kinda-beige color of this T-Shirt. And it was just the one set of clothes.

“Did someone tell Spike?” Dawn asked, looking around. Willow, Tara and Xander had looks of obvious 'no' on their faces. Kind of a 'no, and why the hell would we?' sort of thing. “Come on!”

“Dawn, _nobody_ likes Spike,” Xander cut in. “The last thing any of us want is to go talk to him, especially about things related to Buffy.” The name Spike sounded kinda familiar, but Faith couldn't place it.

  
“Spike. As in, William the Bloody? Angelus' grandchilde?” Faith snapped her fingers as Wesley spoke. _That's where_ _I_ _'d heard it from._ “Do I even want to know?” And then Faith remembered that little speech she'd given him in the Bronze while she'd been wearing Buffy's body. And what he'd said: something about a chip in his head, not being able to hurt people.

“Ya really don't,” Xander said, his voice suddenly jumping from annoyed to outright furious. “And Dawn, you're going to have to get used to the idea that Spike won't be coming around again. _Ever._ ” He turned to Faith, “Actually, since you're in town, you could get yourself some nice brownie points and turn him into dust tonight. It'll be easy – he can't hurt people.” Xander was barrelling forward, ignoring Dawn's attempts to say something.

Xander was kind of coming off as a complete ass, but if Buffy's little sister was upset at the idea of a vamp being staked...

_What the hell happened while I've been gone?_

“He can't hurt anyone? How exactly does that work? Last time I was in town, I remember – I remember him saying something like that. That he couldn't hurt people.”

“Exactly what it says on the neon-blonde tin,” Xander replied. “He's fangless, impotent, pick your term. The government put this chip into his head, so he couldn't hurt people, but he could still hurt demons, so he ended up just kind of helping us against a lot of bad guys, because he liked fighting.”

“We all just kind of – we just kind of got used to him being there,” Willow explained.

  
**May 3** **rd** **, 2002**

**Sunnydale General, Sunnydale**

Wesley wasn't sure what to be thinking right now. This news about Spike was... astonishing. Buffy was never exactly a traditional Slayer, Angel was unliving proof of that on multiple levels, but to work with a still evil vampire? Because of a chip in his head?  
  
And why was Dawn so obviously upset?

He got his answer when the teenaged girl decided that yelling was the only way she wasn't going to be talked over:  
  
“No, you all have it all wrong! Spike's not – he's not – evil! He's my friend! He's helped me! He's helped _us_!” Dawn protested loudly. “He's good now! He fights evil, and that makes him good!” She looked at Xander accusingly. “You just want Faith to kill him because he slept with Anya!” _Anya? As in Anyanka, the_ _former_ _vengeance demon?_ She had been in Sunnydale under that name, and human. In any other town, Wesley would have assumed that it was pure coincidence that there was a woman involved with Spike – and apparently Xander – with that name.

  
In Sunnydale? There didn't seem to be any coincidences.

“That has _nothing_ to do with it, Dawn!” Xander replied. It didn't sound entirely genuine to Wesley's ears, and apparently not to Dawn's either.

“The hell it doesn't!” Dawn swore, “He's not evil! You know how he is with my sister!” Wesley didn't, but Xander, Tara and Willow did. And Dawn apparently couldn't have said a worse thing.

“How he is with Buffy? Let me tell you how he is with Buffy, Dawn. You wanna know how he is with her? Last night he tried-” Xander bit his lip and took a breath, lowering his voice – their little group was attracting stares from everyone else in the waiting room. “He tried to kill her last night. Hurt her pretty badly.”

_Didn't they just say he couldn't hurt people?_ Now Wesley was completely confused. He blinked, but said nothing, listening to Dawn and Xander argue.  
  
“No! That's impossible! He loves her – and the chip! He couldn't have been able to hurt her! You're lying!”

“Buffy rejected him, and he got sick of it,” Xander replied, “He's _evil_ , Dawn. We all kind of forgot just how evil he is, since he's been the fangless wonder for so long.”

“The – the chip doesn't work for Buffy anymore,” Tara told them hesitantly. “Ever since we brought her back, he's been able to hurt her.” Willow and Xander both looked at her, “she told me that in confidence! I couldn't just say something to you about it.”

“You're lying! You're all lying!” Tears coming to her eyes, Dawn ran away from them all, flying out of the waiting room.

Faith looked at where Dawn had been, then back to Xander, Tara and Willow. “What just happened?”

“I'm not sure. But,” Wesley looked at Xander, “somehow, I suspect that Spike did more than just try to _kill_ Buffy.” There was something about the way Xander had reacted to the 'how he is with my sister'. He'd been about to say something else.

Xander didn't say anything, he just looked away, still obviously fuming. Willow and Tara both got horrified looks on their faces. Faith just got angry.

“Oh, I'll _kill_ him,” Faith snarled. “Slowly.”

**May 3** **rd** **, 2002**

**Sunnydale General, Sunnydale**

“Willow said you wanted to talk to me?” Faith asked as she walked towards Buffy's hospital bed. Her fellow slayer was propped up, wearing one of those super-unflattering hospital gowns, but fortunately not hooked up to anything. “How you feeling?”  
  
“Still hurts, I told the doctors not to give me anything for the pain. Starting to regret that choice. They'll let me out tomorrow, but they say I shouldn't do anything strenuous for a week or two. That's how long it's gonna take for the stitches to heal.”  
  
“So, what, a couple days then?” Faith couldn't help but smirk. Slayer Healing. Gotta love it.

“Something like that.” Buffy chuckled a little at that. “But that means I can't do patrolling.” Buffy rested her head back on the pillows. “Look, Faith, I know you just came up to apologize, and not to stick around. But if you could,” Faith tensed as she realized where this was going. B couldn't possibly be about to ask her to -

“If you could take over patrolling for a few days, before you and Wesley leave town to go... wherever... That would be helpful.”

Faith blinked. “B – you can't be serious. After everything I did -”

“You helped save my life, Faith,” Buffy pointed out. She took a breath, wincing a little. “I'll be honest. I can't say I totally trust you, or that I'm gonna just forgive you for what happened. But I believe you. You want to do good. You wanna be good. I've believed it ever since you turned yourself in, when you didn't have to. You could have kept running. You didn't.”

“You have your boy Angel to thank for that,” Faith replied, her throat tightening. It felt... good, to hear that Buffy believed her. Not so good to hear she wasn't forgiven yet, that Buffy didn't trust her, but she would work with that. She hadn't expected as much as she was getting.

“Angel may have been the one to,” Buffy gestured a little, groping for the right word, “lead the horse to water, so to speak, but you're the one who chose to drink. That counts for a lot. You could've broken out any time too.”

“Yeah,” Faith admitted. “I could have. Part of the reason why I stayed was so I could... I could show you that I meant it. Prove to you I was trying to make up for what I did.”

  
“Well, it helped. A lot,” Buffy told her. “The last year has been... well, it's been hell. In a lot of ways. Gave me a new perspective on things.”

“Your friends filled me in a few things. Giles really left?” Part of Faith wanted to jump straight the whole 'Spike' issue, but... well... they weren't friends. Not yet. So...

“Yep,” Buffy replied darkly. “Just like every other man in my life, he went and left. First Dad, then Angel, then Riley. Why not Giles? I mean, I even got a job and I'm doing my best to take care of Dawn, and...” A few tears came to Buffy's eyes. Faith wasn't sure what to do; she just grabbed the tissue box on the side-table and held it out for Buffy.

“He didn't even come back for Xander's wedding.” Buffy finished. “He's not coming back.”

“Xander got married?” Faith hadn't seen a ring on his hand.

“No. It – the wedding got called off. While it was happening. It's another long story. And really – that one is Xander's story to tell.”

“Long stories. Seems like it's kind of the rule here in Sunnyhell, isn't it?” This was... nice. Almost like she and Buffy were bonding a little.

“Story of my life,” Buffy agreed, then shook her head, “I – I don't want to be so angry at Giles, but it's hard not to be, when he just walked away like that. He doesn't even call, or send letters.” She took a breath. “Things with Giles aren't the only thing you heard about, from what... Willow asked.”

“Yeah,” Faith said slowly. “Xander didn't have to say it, once Wesley asked.”

“I'm just glad Dawn didn't hear it,” Buffy said softly. “I – I'm sure you have a couple hundred questions on everything to do with that.”  
  


“You might say that. But... I figure you don't want to talk about it right now. Not with me.” Faith looked down.

“I don't really want to talk about it. With anyone,” Buffy admitted. “It's not just you.” Buffy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Look, can you ask Wesley to come in here? I have a few Watcher-related questions for him.”

And there it was. Well, Buffy was trying to deal with a lot of things at once, and moment of bonding or not... there was a lot of issues between them still.

“Sure.” Faith nodded, turning to walk away from Buffy. As she started to open the door, Buffy spoke again:

“When you and Wes do leave town – don't be a total stranger, okay? Maybe we can do some sort of... Slayer penpal thing?” Buffy offered, then, “I mean, if you want to.”

Faith turned back, unable to stop a small smile from playing across her face. “Yeah. I like the sound of that.”

**May 4 th, 2002**

**Alley, Warehouse District, Sunnydale**

Last night, when she'd gone out on patrol, Faith had been a little worried she'd lost her touch. After all, she'd been in prison for two years. Sure, she'd worked out, gotten into some fights – none started by her – and done her best to stay in top form, but it wasn't like she'd been able to practice staking vamps.

But as it turned out, not so much. Slaying came back to her easily, just like riding a biker. So last night, she'd hit a few cemeteries, taken out a half-dozen vamps and some weird green dog-like thing with eight horns. Wesley had given her the name of it this morning. Some weird unpronounceable thing with like a dozen syllables or whatever.

Tonight she'd decided to check the rest of the town, see how Sunnydale had changed in the last couple years. Overall, it was pretty much the same place: small town, stupid locals that kept going out at night, demons, vamps, general evil.

She had taken out a pair of vamps outside the Bronze, about to snack on their would-be dates, but checking downtown had proved to be a lot less interesting. Less stuff to slay.  
  
As she walked, Faith thought about everything that had happened since she'd come back to Sunnyhell. Didn't really feel like it had been just over a day. Wesley had paid for a pair of rooms at a cheap motel. Not as cheap as the roach-nest she'd stayed in, but not the best quality place in the world either. Apparently doing the good fight thing in L.A. didn't pay that well. _Good thing the Council's giving us a_ _paycheck each._ Stealing was another old habit of hers she'd have to break. Not _having_ to do it to pay for food, rent and all that shit would help with that. In theory.

She'd dropped by Buffy's house after they'd let her out of the hospital a couple of hours ago, did a little bit more of that awkward bonding thing they'd managed yesterday, and gotten to talk to Willow and Tara a bit more. She'd been surprised when she'd learned Willow wasn't driving stick anymore, but it seemed to be working out for her. The Tara girl was pretty nice too – a little soft-spoken, too much of the 'wicca earth mother hippy' vibe for Faith's tastes, but then, it wasn't her tastes that mattered now, were they?

So a little catching up. And no finding Spike. Some demon with a nasty skin problem – Clem he'd said his name was – had said Spike was out of town, no forwarding address. _Probably wanted to skip town before Buffy staked him – he tried to_ _kill_ _her._ _Or worse._ She'd debated killing Clem, but he'd looked like he couldn't do more than murder a bucket of fried chicken, so she'd left him alone – and according to Buffy, Clem was totally harmless. Actually harmless, even.

_And Angel's got that singing demon he works with, so good demons are a thing. At least, not-bad ones._

Dawn on the other hand... well, she was sulking in her room. B hadn't told Dawn the whole story, but she had stuck with the whole 'he attacked me' thing, and Dawn was not handling the revelation well.

Wes was putting together a list of demon-hotspots they could move on to, and then he was gonna let her pick. Faith was torn between sticking in the one place or maybe moving around every few months. She'd find out after she stayed in the one place for a few months, she supposed.

The sound of a pained moan drew her attention towards an alleyway. At the far end, there was someone slumped over in the alley, moaning like they'd just had a bad trip. Woman, from the sound of her voice. Faith turned away, about to check out another warehouse when she felt something. A vampire. Closing in... coming from-  
  
Faith turned back to the alleyway. The moaning figure from before was half-standing, struggling to stay on her feet, one hand pressed against the alley wall, a vampire coming towards her, slowly. She wasn't even trying to run – which wasn't surprising, except that there was _something_ coming off of whoever it was. Some kind of power.

Pulling out her stake, Faith charged down the alley and tackled the vampire, knocking him to the ground and putting a stake into his heart. As she rose to her feet, she heard the woman collapse – Faith turned to see her on her knees, crying, murmuring something.  
  
Faith crouched down by her side, straining to hear the words. Faith didn't recognize her – whoever it was, she was maybe about Faith's age, long straight, lightish brown, maybe... auburn? hair – it was hard to tell in this poor lighting – and wearing a tight fitting top and a skirt that ended at her knees. Under other circumstances, Faith might have appreciated the girl's body.

“You should have let him eat me,.” The chick murmured her eyes flowing with long pent-up tears. “Shoulda just let it happen.”  She closed her eyes after she caught Faith staring into them, whispering, “The things I’ve done, what I’ve become.  Death would be better than this. You  s hould've let me die...” She just kept saying that over and over again.

Faith's throat tightened – didn't that sound familiar. Despite herself, Faith's mind flashed back to that fight in the rain, what she'd said to Angel, how she'd begged him to finish her off, put an end to everything for her – the pain, the confusion, the isolation, the... despair.

_"I'm evil! I'm bad! I'm evil! Do you hear me? I'm bad! Angel, I'm bad! I'm ba-ad. Do you hear me? I'm bad! I'm bad! I'm bad. Please. Angel, please, just do it. Angel please, just do it. Just do it. Just kill me. Just kill me."_

There was something in this woman's plea that... it resonated with her. Faith closed her eyes for a moment, trying to banish the echo of feelings past from her mind.  
  
 _I can't leave her out here like this. She'll be a snack for the next demon or vamp that shows up._ Being a good guy had its downsides. Or at least its annoyances.

“It isn't worth becoming vampire food over,” Faith said, making her decision. She'd take whoever it was to Buffy's house – that was closer than the motel. They could keep an eye on her for the night – then she could go back home in the morning. Shit would probably seem less bad for her then, whatever it was that was givin' her the death wish now. “Look, come on-” Faith grabbed onto the woman's shoulder, intent on lifting her up and carrying her if need be.

As the Slayer's hand was maybe an inch from the woman, a few bluish sparks flew off of her and connected with Faith's hand. Faith pulled her hand back for a second in shock, but they hadn't hurt. They'd kind of... tingled, a little. Faith couldn't think of a better word.

_So she's magical too. Alright._ Picking up power from her or not, the woman was also human. Meaning she needed to be protected and all that. So-

Putting the sparks off to the side of her mind, Faith grabbed the woman quickly and searched for a pocket, something that might have some idea of who she was. Maybe even an address that was closer than Buffy's. Nothing. No pockets, nothing down the front of her shirt, no purse.

_Yeah, that would be too easy._ Putting her hand on the girl's shoulder, Faith ignored her protests as she pushed the girl up, all but throwing the woman over her shoulder – as gently as she could. Which really wasn't that gently. Thanks to the Slayer-strength, carrying whoever this was was a breeze.

And besides, apart from her weak, murmured protests, the chick was too whacked out on _something_ to actually resist being carried.


	4. Amy's Story

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel or Charmed

**Author's Note:** I am using the events of my oneshot 'The Spellbook' as 'canon' for how Amy came to start using magic. It is my official headcanon for that decision, and so this fic sticks with that. It is not essential to read that fic to understand this one.

Thanks are extended to deiticlast and Maria (@bisexualxanderharris) for beta-reading.

Battered Souls

By Alkeni

Chapter 4: Amy's Story

**May 4 th, 2002**

**1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale**

Faith had been about halfway to Buffy's place when the drugged out girl passed out from her high. After checking to make sure she was still breathing right and all that, Faith continued on to the other Slayer's house, thankfully not running into any more vamps along the way.

Not surprised to find the door locked this late, Faith knocked and waited until Willow answered the door.

“Hey,” Faith said, stepping into the house past Willow. “I was on patrol and I found a vamp about to make a meal out of this drugged out chick. Dusted him, but I couldn't exactly just leave her there for the next vamp to eat her.” Faith carried the woman into the living room and laid her down on the empty couch. “Figured you guys might at least know who she is, so I can take her to her place.”

Willow looked at the girl, then did a double take. “That's – that's Amy. Amy Madison.” The redhead's voice got all strange when she said the girl's name. Which sounded familiar.

“Name rings a bell,” Faith observed. She wasn't sure why. Faith knew she'd never met this girl - she would stand out.

“Remember how I was trying to turn that girl who'd turned herself into a rat back into a human?” That sounded vaguely familiar, something Willow had mentioned in passing. It was part of that whole thing with the parents in town going nuts and trying to burn their kids at the stake thanks to some demon messin' with their heads. As Faith thought back to what she remembered about that, Tara came into the room. When she saw Amy lying on the couch, the blonde gave Willow a look that seemed somewhere between concern and... anger? Maybe? Kinda of hard to tell – and Tara gave off too much of that 'hippy' vibe for anger to really look right on her face.

_So what the hell was that about?_

“Well, looks like you managed to make it happen,” Faith pointed out.

“Yeah. After a few years. I don't know where she lives these days but since you know who she is, you can take her out of here, right now.” There was no doubt that Willow was angry – one hand clenched in a fist, her voice raised just a little, and she was putting as much distance between herself and Amy as she could.

“I – I think that might be a good idea,” Tara agreed hesitantly. Faith was walking right into the middle of something – and Amy had done something to piss off Willow and Tara.

“Well, where am I supposed to take her, then?” If nothing else, Faith could take Amy to her motel room, let her have the bed while she recovered from whatever she'd hit herself up with, but Faith really didn't want to give up the bed. It was so much better than her prison cot, and she'd enjoyed having it last night.

“I don't know, but not here! I told her she wasn't welcome in this house ever again!” Willow barked. She was about to say more, but Tara came over and put a hand on the redhead's back gently.

“Faith doesn't exactly know,” Tara pointed out, her voice soft.

“Totally in the dark here. What the hell did this chick do to you guys?” Faith agreed. “And last I checked, this was B's place technically. Didn't think you got to go around deciding who was welcome and who wasn't.”

“When it comes to Amy, yes,” Willow said more calmly. “I -” Willow took a breath. “Faith, you're helping out here, but this isn't exactly a story I want to tell,” she said through gritted teeth. “You can ask her when she wakes up, if you want to know so bad. Just – please, get her out of here, okay?” There was still anger in Red's voice, but more than that, there was... fear. Something about Amy scared Willow as much as it made her angry. _What the hell went on between these three?_

“Fine,” Faith conceded, resigned. “Just answer me the one question: is she evil?” Evil or not, she didn't deserve to be vamp food, but if this Amy chick _was_ evil, Faith would need to borrow Wesley's handcuffs. _Assuming he's not having fun with them tonight._ Faith doubted it, but if there was a guy who desperately needed to get laid more than Wesley, Faith didn't know who it was.

Wesley insisted he had the cuffs for professional reasons, rather than personal ones, but Faith had had fun teasing him about them anyway. _If you just have them for work, Wes, then why did you flush when I saw them?_

“No. She's not evil,” Tara said firmly. “But... her aura is covered with dark magic. It clings to her.” _Auras? Those are a thing?_

“Why doesn't that surprise -” Willow started, but she cut herself off when Tara gave her a meaningful look. Faith _really_ needed to figure what the hell had happened with Amy.

It was strange – Faith had just brought the girl here to maybe drop her off, and at least figure out who she was. But... the hostility Amy, even unconscious, was getting from Willow and Tara had her curious. And more than curious, it...

Faith had only barely noticed it, but every few seconds while they'd been talking just now, she'd kept sneaking a look over towards Amy, checking on her. Something about the girl was drawing her attention, and it was – Faith didn't just want to know what had happened with this girl, why she was so desperate to die, but...

Faith felt like she _needed_ to know.  
  
“What exactly does that mean?” Faith asked, pointing to herself. “Person who doesn't know jack about magic here. Isn't the whole point of 'dark' magic that it's supposed to be evil?”

“Not exactly. Some dark magic is 'evil',” Tara explained, “to the degree any human magic can be called 'good' or 'evil', but uhm... dark magic is magic that is... selfish, unbalancing, unnatural or...” Tara groped for the right words, gesturing as she did so, then finally she shrugged helplessly, “It's complicated.”

“I'm getting that vibe,” Faith nodded, then sighed. “Alright, fine. I'll take her out of here.” Moving over to the couch, Faith picked up the girl carefully, putting Amy over her shoulder again. “Chick had to have done something pretty bad for you two to want her out of her so bad when I'm allowed in.” Faith looked from Tara to Willow and then back again, pointedly staring into them, trying to get one of them to say something.

“She slept with Willow,” Tara blurted out, then looked away, flushing.

_Willow cheated on her girlfriend? Well, she did cheat on wolfboy that one time too..._ Somehow that didn't seem like enough of an explanation, but it could explain some of the hostility, especially the way Tara seemed to have been a tiny bit angry at Willow at the sight of Amy – the two girls were clearly together still, but neither one would want the reminder.  
  
“I didn't cheat on Tara,” Willow explained quickly, sounding like she wanted to be anywhere but here, having this conversation. “We – we were... taking a break.” _Taking a break. Yeah. That doesn't sound a thing like a lie._ “It was the one time, and I realized I... I couldn't do it again. I still loved Tara too much.” Willow reached for her girlfriend's hand, holding it, looking for reassurance.

“Alright.” Faith headed out of the house. Tara's explanation that dark magic wasn't evil and her certainty that Amy wasn't evil aside, Faith wasn't sure she wanted to risk leaving the girl uncuffed if she was gonna take her to the motel room.

_And I was so looking forward to sleeping in the bed again._

**May 5 th, 2002**

**Motel, Sunnydale**

Amy had woken up from enough of these magical drug 'comas' to know the pattern.

First, awareness slipped into her body, like water seeping through a dam, spreading throughout her with a slow, sluggish pace. The first real sensation she felt was this... sort of sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, a gnawing empty hunger eating at her. Already, she wanted another hit.

Of course, the rest of her felt sick too. Sick, and filthy. Rack had cast a cleaning spell on her before he'd shoved her out of his 'office', but it would take more than that for her to feel clean again. If she ever could.

Amy shifted in the bed underneath her, moaning in a mixture of pain and disgust. Then her breath caught – the sheets over her, the mattress underneath her... wholly unfamiliar.

This wasn't one of the alleyways she'd grown used to waking up in, the press of pavement against her skin, the smell of trashcans and dumpsters all around. This wasn't even the flea-bitten rats-nest of a bed in the shitty apartment she nominally called home, using her magic to tricking the landlord into thinking she paid in full and on time every month.

Amy opened her eyes, slowly wondering just where the hell she as. The ceiling looked unfamiliar – she moved her head around a little, taking in the rest of the room. It had all the markings of a cheap – but not too cheap – motel room.

The sick hunger gnawing at her stomach aside, Amy felt fine. Apart from the raging self-loathing and feeling of filthiness clinging to her skin – every inch, every pore feeling like it needed to be scrubbed until it bled.

Amy felt fine now, but she knew that by this evening, it would be back again. She'd be shaking, nauseous, cold. The sight and smell of actual food would just make it worse. Her palms would sweat, her throat would feel tight... and that sick hunger would be all consuming.

Amy didn't think she'd even be able to make it to midnight before she went back to Rack's. He'd given her so little this time... and he'd do the same thing this time. She'd pay the same way she had last night, because she had nothing else to give – he'd had his fill of power, he'd taken all her money, everything she could have offered in trade for just one more hit. For just one more night when it didn't have to hurt, when she could just... not feel anything but bliss.

She'd given Rack everything she had and more. She'd even given him her mother's spellbook. That had bought her two weeks. And now all she had...

The problem with Rack's drug wasn't that it blacked out your memory like drinking too much could. No. Amy remembered everything that happened when she was blissed out on his magic with perfect clarity. At first, that had made it more insidious – she remembered how pain-free she'd felt, how amazing the high had been. She remembered... everything.

And now... now it worked against her. She remembered everything – every humiliation, every degrading act. Every single one of Rack's scornful laughs as his buddies used her so she could get that tiny bit of magic he was offering.

When you had nothing else to offer... Rack had never touched her. Or anyone else. But he had friends. 'Buddies'. It showed off how powerful he was, if he could get people to whore themselves out for him – to humans, to demons, to vampires... to weird things with more tentacles than she wanted to think about. Most of the time it was just humans –

But she remembered every time with perfect clarity. Everything he'd had her do.

She remembered last night too. Amy walked through it... Rack had shoved her from his 'office' after it was over. She'd stumbled out of his place, through a few alleys, relying on the walls of buildings to keep her up as she'd kept going, barely able to stay standing on her feet.

She'd heard the snarl behind her. _The vampire._ She remembered feeling...

_Hope_. For the first time in... in months, Amy had felt hope. She'd never understood how she'd managed to pass out in so many alleys and not get eaten by a vamp, given the way things worked in Sunnydale. But now...

There'd been a vamp right there. Ready to eat her. Ready to... end the pain. For good. It was the only thing that was gonna stop her. She'd stood there, watching him approach, waiting for him, wishing he'd just get it over with.

And then... someone had tackled the vamp, moving like some avenging dark angel on the streets of Sunnydale. She'd tackled the vamp, dusted him...

She'd moved with the speed and strength of a Slayer, but the girl hadn't been Buffy. Dark hair... wrong body. And she hadn't moved like Buffy either.

Amy remembered the way the despair had clawed back into her. The way the... other Slayer? _Is Buffy dead? No, I'd have – I'd have heard about that._

The woman – the Slayer? - had picked her up and carried her somewhere... Amy had tried to resist, but...

What had been the point? The woman obviously wasn't gonna kill her. _I pleaded with her._ Amy didn't know why she'd done that. She'd never pleaded with anyone. She'd... she'd contemplated going to Willow, more than once, to beg for her help.

But pride... pride, and jealousy and a hate she knew was misplaced stopped her. And shame. Willow had fallen faster, but she hadn't fallen as far... _She pulled herself out of this hell. And I'm still here, mired in the worst of it._

But why had she pleaded with the woman? The woman who had condemned her to at least another night of hell. Another night of degradation and...

There was no reason for it, not yet, but Amy felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes, starting to trail down her cheeks.

“Why couldn't she have just let him kill me?”

“Because vamp food isn't something anyone wants to be,” a familiar voice said, walking into the room. Amy blinked and looked at the woman who had condemned her.

_She's – she's beautiful_. There was no reason for Amy to think that right now, given everything, but she had. The woman had brown hair with a slight wave to it. She was wearing a tight white shirt that left little to the imagination, black leather pants. Amy couldn't take her eyes off of the woman...

“You wanna take a picture?” the woman asked, moving towards her, tossing a bottle of water onto the bed. “I'm Faith: Slayer. You're Amy: witch.” _How does she know my name?_ Amy looked away from the woman – Faith – to the bottle of water, but she wasn't thirsty.

“You remember last night?” Faith asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed, looking over at her. Amy looked away even more, dropping to look at her hands.

“When Tara said your aura was covered in dark magic, I thought about cuffing you to the bed, in case she was wrong about you being evil,” Faith said with a smirk. “You're not about to make me regret that choice, right?”

_My aura's covered in dark magic?_ Made sense. Using magic to mind control people so she could steal food, not pay for rent (what money did she have to pay it with?) and... taking what Rack had to offer didn't exactly qualify as white magic. And before that...

Amy had never even thought about the nature of the magic she was using. But – basically all the magic she'd ever used qualified. Selfish. Get out of homework. Get something she wanted for free.

_God. Why am I still alive?_

Was this what rock bottom felt like? Wanting to die so badly you couldn't even do it yourself?

“I -” Amy started, but she couldn't get the words out. She just shook her head. She grabbed the bottle of water, but she didn't open it, just fidgeting with it, moving it around in her hands.

She heard Faith stand up from the bed. “Look, Amy, I don't really know you. When I brought you by B's – Buffy's – place, to see if anyone there knew who you were, Willow made it pretty clear that you weren't welcome. But they did tell me your name. You don't know me. You're probably wondering how I can be the Slayer since Buffy's still around.”

“People can be clinically dead,” Amy said softly, her voice nearly emotionless. “Without actually staying dead.”

Faith chuckled humorlessly, “Yep.”

**May 5 th, 2002**

**Motel Room, Sunnydale**  
  
“Look,” Faith continued, looking at Amy. “You don't know me. You don't have to tell me anything – but I do want to know what happened: with you, with Willow... why you wanted to die so bad. But it's up to you.”

Faith wasn't sure why she wanted to know so badly. It had been all she'd thought about last night after bringing Amy here, even as she'd patrolled a bit more. Her philosophy had always been to know want to know about other people's problems, their baggage. She'd always felt like if it wasn't her problem... well, it wasn't her problem. She had enough of her own without taking on other people's.

And Faith had always been someone who hated talking... about anything difficult, hard. And so she'd especially never been the sort to push anyone to talk when they didn't.

  
But now – with Amy... Faith couldn't stop thinking about her. About the way she'd pleaded for death, just about. The way that reminded Faith about... about herself, about the way that she'd tried to get Angel to kill her.

And once she had that reminder, she couldn't help but find more similarities, couldn't help but see herself in more of Amy. The hostility Willow showed Amy reminded Faith of the way Buffy had given up on her, a few times in there, just let herself be pissed. The way she was holding herself now, withdrawn, unwilling to look at her, no emotion in her voice – that brought back memories. The way she'd been at Angel's place, before she'd turned herself in.

_How does this work?_

“Why do you wanna know? Why does it even matter? Why do you even care?” Amy asked, her voice wooden and emotionless.

“I'm curious?” Faith offered, immediately recoiling from the idea of sharing, of opening up to Amy even a little bit. “I mean, Willow doesn't really get that kind of pissed off that much.” Willow hadn't even been that nasty to her, and Faith had held a knife to the girl. “And,” Faith added, smirking, “I let you take the bed, so least you could do is tell me what happened.” Part of her knew how little chance there that casual tack would work. How it might even make Amy withdraw more, or even pull away. Drive her off.

The way Amy resonated with Faith... it scared her. Seeing herself in the other woman. _I don't need to look back. I gotta move forward. Make up for what I've done._ The last thing Faith needed to do was have a reminder of where she'd been, right?

There was just something about Amy...

Faith watched Amy close her eyes and bit her lip, her hands playing with the bottle of water more.

“Well, if it's all the same to you, I'm not gonna indulge your curiosity then, Faith,” Amy said after a silent, awkward minute. “I'd thank you for not leaving me out there last night... but then... well, you heard me. I'm not sure I'm grateful.” Amy got out of the bed, standing up much better now than last night. “And I'd suggest not trying to stop me from leaving – Slayer or not, it's not gonna work.” It wasn't a threat. It wasn't even some sort of cold, deadly statement of fact. It was just... bland explanation. Amy wanted to leave – and she had the magic to make sure she did.

“You wanna leave, I'm not gonna stop you,” Faith told Amy. _Am I really gonna do this?_ Was Faith gonna let Amy just walk off, get another high, kill herself, let herself be killed?

_Why do I care? Why does the idea bother me? She doesn't want help, does she? She wants to die. She really wants it, she'll make it happen one way or the other..._

And then it hit her.

She'd always wondered why Angel had been so willing to help her. Always made a connection between his quest for redemption and his drive to help her redeem herself, to make up in some small way for what she did.

But now she got it.

_If Amy dies... what chance have I got?_ Faith was pretty sure that whatever the hell Amy had done, she hadn't killed anyone. Faith had killed multiple someones. Angel, when he'd been evil, had probably killed hundreds.

If there was a chance for her to make up for things, then Angel had a chance. But if there was no chance for her...

_Then Angel has no chance._

Faith had been at rock bottom. She could still remember what it was like, what it had felt like to get there. Angel had been right, all those years ago, when he'd first tried to help her. There was something about the act of taking a life. The power. Faith remembered it, the way she'd killed that volcano researcher guy.

As she sat there, watching Amy, remembering how drugged out the girl had been last night, Faith realized that she _had_ been there. Been exactly where Amy had been. Addicted.

_And if Amy can't make it out of Rock Bottom..._

… _then I can go back..._

**May 5 th, 2002**

**Motel, Sunnydale**

Amy looked at Faith, watching the Slayer look away from her.

“I care, Amy,” Faith said after a long silent moment, still not looking at her, “because I've been where you are.” Gone was the sarcasm, the unserious tone. Faith's voice was quiet, heartfelt. “I've been where you are. Rock bottom. Hating what you've become. Wanting to die.”

Amy scoffed, a sneer forming on her face. As if. She started to brush past the other woman, “Yeah right. You know _exactly_ what it feels like.” Amy shook her head. “You have no idea what it's like, Slayer.”

“I know what it's like, Amy,” Faith said again, moving to stand between her and the doorway. Amy clenched one hand into a fist, ready to blast the Slayer out of the way if need be. _This much I can still do._ If there was one thing she had left, it was her magic. She could still get what she wanted with it – almost anything. And right now she wanted to get out of this room. Away from here.

“I know what it feels like, when nothing makes sense. When all you have is pain, and you'll do anything to make it go away. When it seems like nothing you do is gonna matter. Ever.” Faith looked Amy in the eye. “I know what it feels like when there's no way out. When you can't think of anything else to do but what you're already doing, even if it's killing you.” For some reason, Amy couldn't take her own eyes off of Faith's, their gazes locked for a long moment. “And I know what it's like to want it all to end so bad that you're welcoming the idea of a vamp killing you.” Faith bit her lip and looked away for a moment, before looking back to her. Amy took the chance to finally pull her gaze away from Faith's.

Amy wanted to just... lash out. Tell Faith she was lying. But... she couldn't be. Because it fit. All of it. And... Faith wasn't lying. There was nothing but truth there, in her eyes, in her voice.

“You've been there?” Amy asked quietly, trying to avoiding sounding desperate. If Faith really had been there, then Faith had made it out. Had come back from the edge. Which meant there was a way back.

Part of her still wanted to blast her way out. There was more she could do, things she could do to avoid having to... degrade herself. Amy could steal things – money, artifacts, magical tomes. Whatever it took to pay Rack, whatever it took to get the next fix.  
  
But sooner or later, she'd run out of things to get him. Or she'd attract Buffy's attention – or even this Slayer's. And then what?

_And then I become mom. I'm already messing with people's minds, to get food, my shitty apartment. That's bad enough. I don't want to become mom._ Amy had always been terrified of that, her greatest nightmare...

And for the first time, Amy realized just how close she was to it. How close she was to becoming her mother.

“Yeah,” Faith nodded, sitting back down on the bed. “And getting back wasn't easy. I didn't do it on my own. And you won't be able to either.”

Amy barked a hollow laugh, “So what, you volunteering to be my sponsor?” Why would anyone do that for her? Everyone wanted something. Even Willow had just wanted someone who could help her forget her painful breakup with precious Tara. Had wanted someone around who wouldn't judge her for using magic a lot.

Otherwise, Amy doubted the other witch would ever have figured out how to turn her back from being a rat.

“Something like that.” Faith nodded.

“Why?”

“To be honest? I'm not sure.” Faith balled her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms. “I see me, in you. Just like the person who helped me saw himself in me, I think. I'm trying to become a better person, make up for what I've done.”  
  
“So what? I'm a charity case? Help me, help yourself? Feel better about yourself? Thanks, but no thanks.” Amy didn't know why she was rejecting – what she was even rejecting...

“I want to help you because no one else is, Amy,” Faith gestured to the doorway, “I don't see a line of people offering to help you. You've alienated Willow – and I'm guessing all her friends too. Buffy, Xander. Definitely Tara.” Faith took a deep, slightly shaky breath. “I'm offering to help because... because last night, all night, the only thing I could think about was you, in that alley, saying I should have let that vamp kill you. Because it kept reminding me of me. I'm offering to help because you need it – and I think I need it too. I'm offering to help, Amy, and I don't really think you're in much of a position to say no.”

Amy took a step back, feeling... as if a weight was dropping into her hands with the force of what Faith was saying, the heartfelt and total _honesty_ in the words. Amy believed her. She didn't know why – she just...

She just did.

Amy took a slow, shuddering breath and sat down on the bed, closing her eyes for a long moment, trying to focus on...

Something. She wasn't sure what.  
  
“Let's – let's start small,” Faith said hesitantly, sounding unsure. “I mean – what were you on, exactly?”

“Magic.” Amy answered. “Magic in it's purest, most raw form. The ultimate high.” Amy tilted her head back for a moment, making a choice. She'd stood on pride for this long. Someone was right here, offering help. _And I don't want to not take it._ She wanted to take what Faith was offering. She wanted... she wanted Faith to help her. She wanted to...

_I want – I want to feel like a person again. I want to – I want to feel clean. I want to stop hating myself every night. I want to – I want to not go back to Rack's. I don't ever want to go there again. I don't want to ever do it again._  
  
I want this to end. And I want to live. Amy wanted this hell to end... but she didn't want it to happen by dying. Not if there was another way. And Faith was offering her that way.

“Can't just buy that off of a street dealer, I'm guessing.” Faith remarked.

“There's a guy, Rack. He sells the stuff,” Amy told Faith, her voice soft. “When I first started using magic... at first it was just mom's spellbook.” It had just... followed her from her mom's house, when she'd moved. “Eventually, I wanted to know more. So I went back to her place – no one else wanted to buy it, and I still had a key. Been in my mom's family for years. I went to her spellroom and went through her notes, journals. Found his name, how to find his den. At first I just wanted to learn from him. I brought him some of mom's stuff – the really dark stuff I never wanted to touch anyway. And he'd show me a spell or two.”

“But he was always offering me a chance to boost my power, to experience the ultimate magical rush. At first, I kept refusing. I saw all those junkies clustered around his door, begging for just a tiny taste.” She'd been so sure she wanted to never end up like them.

“What changed?” Faith asked, no condemnation in her voice.  
  
“I took the one hit... I was sure I could handle it. And the thing is, I could. The next day, my power was more. I could do more with my magic for the same effort. But... I made sure I didn't go too much. Just once every few weeks. I never did get hooked, before the whole... turning myself into a rat thing.” And that had been her undoing. She'd been confident... with good reason, then. She _had_ been able to handle it. Like someone who only drank once every now and then. But she'd handled it _then_.  
  
Amy looked over to Faith, expecting the Slayer to tell her that she'd been stupid to think she could handle it. Faith said nothing.

“When Willow turned me back – the last thing I remembered was saying that spell while I was about to be burnt at the stake. It had been three years, and I had no recollection of any of them. I'd missed graduating high school. All my friends had moved. My dad – my dad had moved. He'd thought I'd died. Just another Sunnydale statistic. I had nothing else left. Just.... magic. That's when I introduced Willow to Rack. I didn't realize she and Tara had had a fight about her using too much magic, and I talked about all the magic Willow had used... it left her upset. So I thought... why not let her forget the pain of her breakup?”

It had seemed like such a good idea. Give Willow a night of bliss. Amy had originally gone to Rack to boost her power, but she remembered the feelings of bliss regardless.

“What I didn't realize is that Willow was... she'd already been addicted to magic. To the feeling of control over her own life. It wasn't the same thing as Rack's drug, but... I went to Rack nearly twenty times over the span of a year. I never got hooked. Willow got hooked after just one time – just one try.”

“That's when you and Willow did your... thing?” Faith asked slowly.  
  
“It had seemed like a good idea at the time,” Amy replied with an empty chuckle. “If I had known Willow was into girls back in High School, I might have made a move then – assuming there hadn't been an Oz in the picture.” Willow had been one of many other girls at Sunnydale High Amy had found attractive, of interest. Hadn't had many opportunities, of course.

“So why does Willow hate you then? Because you introduced her to Rack, and she blames you for her getting hooked? Pretty fucking petty.”

“No. That's not why Willow hates me. She may have gotten hooked quickly, but she realized just how bad she was getting pretty quick too. I don't know the whole story. Something about a car accident and Dawn. She decided she wanted to go clean – only way for her to do that was to stop using magic altogether, she figured. So she went cold-turkey. And I... I cast a spell on her. Gave her a bunch of magic that would fire off randomly. I was trying to get her to relapse.” It had been the perfect plan too. Or so it had seemed. She'd underestimated just how much Willow wanted to stay clean. The help her friends gave her.

“Why?” Faith looked at her, completely confused, her brow furrowed a little. The Slayer leaned in a little towards her, and Amy was aware of the closeness immediately. “Why the fuck would you want to do that?”

“Because I wanted her to fall back into addiction. To drive off all her friends, because they'd given up on her. To have nobody. To feel absolute loneliness – I wanted her to feel what I was feeling, hurt like I was hurting. Because I hated her.” She'd been so angry at Willow, after she'd tracked down her dad, spoken to him...

“What did Red do to you? Hell, she turned you back into a human. Were you pissed she still loved Tara after you little fling?” Faiths sounded... skeptical? A little, scornful. Pretty bad reason to hate the woman, yeah.  
  
“No. Nothing like that.” Amy closed her eyes, a few tears coming to her eyes as she remembered that meeting with her dad. “I went to go find my dad. Tell him – tell him I was alive. Ask for his help. I don't know. I just wanted to see him again. He's my dad, you know?” Amy's vision blurred, her throat starting to feel tight. She tried to keep going, but she couldn't get past the block in her throat.

“Can't really say I do know. Never really knew mine,” Faith admitted. “Guessing yours was... well, not terrible?”

“He was... he was great. Never let me think he didn't love me. Always wanted to spend time with me.” Amy closed her eyes, letting herself remember, for a moment, what dad had been like. “I had to keep that I was using magic secret from him, but... he was a great dad. I just... I wanted him to know I was alive. I did a spell, tracked him down – he'd moved to Modesto a few months after I vanished. By the time I got there, three years later, he'd remarried. Had a stepdaughter. Even a little baby son – my half brother. When I went to talk to him...”

Amy's tears were now sliding down her cheeks in full force, raining down on her lap like a miniature thunderstorm.

“He was so... _angry_ , at me. For leaving. For putting him through thinking I was dead. He acted like I'd just... skipped town for the hell of it. I tried to explain to him, I tried to... tell him, about the spell, being stuck for three years... he just got angrier. After I vanished, when he was cleaning out my room... he found... he found some of my magic stuff. He told me that... I wasn't his daughter anymore. That I was just as bad as mom. That he never wanted to see me again.”

Faith opened her mouth, as if to interject, but then she closed it again and gestured for Amy to keep going.

_I'm not sure I can._

“Without even Dad... I didn't have anyone. And – and I realize it was all my fault. I shouldn't have taken up magic. I shouldn't have used that spell on myself. It was my fault that I lost those three years, that Dad hated me. But... hating Willow, for taking three years to change me back... that was easier than hating myself. But it hurt. So much, to know that dad hated me. He'd disowned me. After a week, it became too much. So I went to Rack's again. That night... it didn't hurt anymore. There was just bliss. Two nights later, I went again. And again the next night. And the night after that. Then one night, Rack told me I'd had enough free hits. He'd had enough of playing around with my magic as his payment. I hadn't brought him anything, so I just left.”

“And that's when you needed it?” It wasn't as much of a question as it sounded.

“Yeah. The cravings. The need. So I started giving him my money – what I could get. I gave him all my magical stuff. Even gave him mom's spellbook. And then I ran out. But I still needed another hit. But I had nothing else to give him.” She'd begged for a hit. After a few days, Rack had finally told her what she needed to do. He'd finally given her a tiny, tiny hit, and then... forced her to put on a show for him. With a few of his friends from L.A.

Amy closed her eyes, night after night of degradation and humiliation flashing across her mind. Every time she whored herself out for just one more hit. Just the slightest end to the cravings, to the pain.

She felt a hand going atop hers. “You don't need to say it, Amy. I grew up on the streets. I know what happens next.” Amy opened her eyes and looked over at Faith, seeing the woman's damp eyes. Then she looked down to where other woman's hand was on hers. “You did the only thing that made sense.”

“You've told me what happened. I wish I could tell you what happens next. I want to help you, and I will, Amy. I will. But you have to make a choice. You have to decide you want that help. I had to make that choice too. You're gonna feel the withdrawal tonight?”

Amy nodded. “Yeah, if I don't get the next hit.”  
  
“You can't go. No matter what. The craving is gonna be there. But that's just gonna be running away from your problems.” Faith barked a laugh, “God, I sound like some fucking... like someone who has their shit together.” Faith bit her lip a moment, then went on. “I don't know what it's gonna be like. My problem was never drugs. I'm a hell of a lot worse. I was where you are now. And maybe I'm not there anymore... but I can't sit here and tell you the way back, because I'm not done with this road either.”

Faith scoffed again. “Fuck. I still sound like someone who understands all this shit. I don't. And here I am, spilling my soul to you.” Faith closed her eyes and took a breath. “Amy. You told me what happened. What you went through. Enough, anyway.” Faith opened her eyes, and looked at Amy, their gazes meeting again. “I'm gonna tell you my story. Might actually help you better than trying to sound all sponsor-y.”  
  
Amy looked away, unable to stand the intensity of Faith's gaze. “You don't have to do that.” Faith didn't have to do anything.

“Maybe not. But you just bared your soul to me Amy. And... I want to tell you. I dunno why. I just... I want to tell you. Even if it scares you off. I just feel like I shouldn't hide it from you. Not if this is gonna work. Not if I'm gonna help you.”

Amy looked back at Faith's face. If Faith was going to tell her this, her story, then Amy could look at her while she told it.

“It started little under three years ago. Couple of months after you went rat,” Faith started, keeping her hand on Amy's. Her voice broke a little as she went on. “It started in an alley with a bunch of vampires, Buffy, a stake, and guy named Alan.”


	5. Whitelighters

**Disclaimer:** Own it, I do not.  
  
And here we get the first mention of the Charmed side of things. ^^  


Battered Souls  
  
By Alkeni

Chapter 5: Whitelighters

**May 5 th, 2002**

**Motel, Sunnydale**  
  
Wesley looked at Faith blankly, trying to process what she'd just told him. The sheer – well, Wesley wasn't sure what adjective really applied. It wasn't 'absurd', per se, but the whole premise of her idea seemed... ill-considered, to put it mildly. But somehow, he doubted this was some sort of terrible attempt at humor.

“I'm going to assume that you're being entirely serious and proceed to the next point: Have you actually thought this idea of yours through?”

“I have, Wes, and I'm not budging on it, so don't even try to change my mind.” Faith told him, arms crossed front of her. “This is a deal breaker. Either Amy comes with us when we leave town, or this whole trial run of you being my Watcher ends.”

“That's a rather extreme leap in the conversation, Faith.” Wesley replied. “Although I suppose it has a remarkable way of shortening this discussion. I suppose Miss Madison is coming with us then.” Wesley wouldn't deny that some part of him liked the idea of just ending their watcher-slayer relationship right now. It had been less difficult than he'd worried it would be – he wasn't constantly concerned that Faith might try to attack him or something along those lines, and while things were awkward, it was hardly impossible for them to work together. The awkwardness was to be expected, regardless.  
  
“She is.” Faith agreed. “I promised I'd help her, and that's what I'm gonna do. Getting her away from Sunnydale and away from this 'Rack' seems like at least a start.”  
  
“If we're going to help her break free of her addiction, we're going to need some understanding of that whole process. Addiction is not really something I've got much knowledge of: Magical or mundane addiction.”   
  
“I've known addicts. Ones that got clean, ones that didn't.” Faith said softly. “And some that got clean and then went back.” She let out a long breath. “Look, I won't deny that it's not gonna be easy, but I'm not going to just leave her where she is alone. Not when I'm in a position to help her. I've been where she's been. If she doesn't get a helping hand, like Angel gave me...” Wesley watched Faith trail off, unable to find the right words for her thoughts.

“There's not a lot of people out there willing to help her, Wes. Her own dad hates her now, and apparently he used to be one of the good dads too.”

_Ah, yes. The good father. That ever elusive animal._ Out of all the people he knew well here in America, only Fred had a truly positive relationship with her father. He knew in passing that this trend seemed to be fairly common among those involved here in Sunnydale as well, from what little he remembered overhearing when he'd been stationed here.

“If we're going to help her recover, you realize that the best place to start is with someone who was addicted as she was and find out what it was like for her, correct?” Wesley said calmly. Faith had outlined the role Willow had played in Amy’s story – how Amy had gotten her addicted - by accident, somewhat - and then tried to get her to relapse. So Willow would be reluctant to help Amy, he grasped that much.

“That's really not happening.” Faith said slowly. “It would be nice, yeah, but it ain't happening. I'm kinda doubting Willow would piss on Amy if she were on fire.” Faith ground the words out angrily.

“That's a little harsh, don't you think? I mean, yes, it's been three years and Willow has changed, in more ways than one, but she's still the same basically good person.” That had certainly been his impression. Granted, he'd only had a little contact with her since their arrival in Sunnydale, but still.   
  
“She's still Willow, yeah,” Faith agreed. “But Amy also fucked around with Willow in a big way. I'm not happy about it, but... Red's kinda got a good reason to be pissed. I get why Amy did what she did, but... pretty shitty thing for her to do. Getting it doesn't make it okay.”

_She really does see herself in Amy._ He'd been getting that impression, but this made it certain. Faith was so dead set on this because if Amy could be saved...

He couldn't deny the appeal in that conceit.

“Alright. I'll... make a few calls, maybe. Take advantage of the fact that I'm a Watcher again and see if anyone at the Council has any sources or contacts that know anything about magical addiction. Is there anything else related to Amy's addiction that might be relevant?” Wesley took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought, pondering just how they would make this work.  
  
 _If Amy's going to be dealing with withdrawal tonight, depending on her willpower, and how bad it gets, she's going to need to be restrained._ He had handcuffs and rope, which could be put to use to that end, but Amy had magic, and he doubted he had the power to counter her.   
  
Faith bit her lip, looking away from him.

  
“Faith, if Amy's going to be traveling with us – with me – I do need to know things that are important. I'm not asking for the personal details she told you last night, if any. But... I do need to know things, if they might be relevant. I can't help you help her without information.”  
  
After a long moment, Faith let out a breath. “Last night, Tara said that Amy's aura was... covered in dark magic.” Wesley raised an eyebrow at that, but Faith wildly misinterpreted the implication of it. “Tara said she wasn't evil too!”

“I didn't say she was. I'm quite familiar with how dark magic works and what it means. The distinction in terms.” He watched Faith nod.

  
“Right. Of course you would be.” She let out another long sigh.

“But it might complicate things.” Wesley didn't actually use his limited magical abilities much, but he wouldn't be surprised if some of the darker spells he had cast didn't still cling to his aura. That resurrection spell he'd cast as a child, for example. Auras were notoriously hard to clean, as it were, and he hadn't exactly cast great amounts of white magic to address the imbalance. “Dark magic isn't evil, but it does have a tendency to distort one's views of the world. The more dark magic you use, the more you want to use it. Fundamentally, dark magic is selfish, and using it is an imbalancing act.”

“Using dark magic,” he went on, “creates a sort of feedback loop.”

“What, it makes you more selfish? Just by using it?” Faith sounded disbelieving, and frankly he didn't blame her. It was more complicated than that.

“Not exactly. But it distorts the way you view the world. It makes your problems and your concerns seem the only important ones – more so than you might otherwise think. It makes being selfish easier, and even more appealing, as it were. Combined with this drug of Rack's, it would probably only make things worse.”  
  
Wesley furrowed his brow. “I don't know how Willow brought Buffy back from the dead, but I've always suspected it involved especially dark magic. That kind of dark energy clinging to her could explain why she managed to get addicted to Rack's drug so quickly, while it took Amy longer.”

Faith, relatively uneducated though she may be, followed his logic well enough: “But it's gonna make it harder for Amy to get clean.”

“Precisely.” Wesley agreed. “To be honest, I have no idea, but it certainly seems likely, given what I know.” He frowned. “I think I'd like to speak to Miss Madison.” She was going to come with them. That was... acceptable. He could understand why Faith would want to help Amy. “And then we should speak with Tara and Willow. They may not be very willing to help her, but maybe they can at least give us some information. Something to work with anyway.”

“She's in my room. You can go talk to her.” Faith agreed. “Just... she's been through a lot.”  
  
“I'm not setting out to create any problems. I just want to ask her a few questions. And I think it would be best if you're not there while we talk. Just this time.”

“No.” Faith said, shaking her head. “Not happening.”

“Faith – I assure you-” Wesley started, but Faith just kept shaking her head.

“No, Wes, I believe you, but that's not the point. I'm not going to leave her alone for that long when I can help it. I'm already leaving her alone long enough talking to you. She needs to know I'm there for her, and I'm gonna stay there for her, no matter what.”

Once again, Wesley quickly put aside the idea of arguing the point. “Alright. Fine. You can be there.”

**May 5 th, 2002**

**Motel, Sunnydale  
**

Taking a shower had helped her feel clean about as much as she'd expected it would: very little. She hadn't felt truly clean in a long time, but at least she was physically clean, in the strictest sense of the word.

Though she'd be more so if she'd had anything else to put on once she was done with the shower. As it was, all she had was the clothes she'd worn yesterday.  
  
Which she wanted to burn, like most of the clothes she owned.

Amy sat down on the bed, unable to muster the will or the care to use the blowdryer on her hair and waited for Faith to come back from talking with her watcher.

She'd have to come back, one way or the other. This was her hotel room, after all, right?  
  
Hearing Faith's story, what the Slayer had done, what she'd been through... hearing how the other woman had reached Rock Bottom and yet gotten back. She'd had help – without Angel, she'd have never made it out.

Amy had been at Rock Bottom for so long, ever since her dad...

Ever since her dad had said he hated her. That's really when it started.

She'd been there, at the bottom, amongst all the shit and muck and misery. She'd forgotten what anything else looked like, what anything else felt like but self-loathing and craving and the mindless bliss after every hit.

But for the first time in a long time, cliché as it sound, Amy felt _hope_. Real hope, hope that maybe the ray of light coming down to her was real. She'd felt hope last night, when the vampire had been about to kill her, but that was the hope of despair, the hope for the pain to end in blackness, in death. This hope... it was something clean. The first clean sensation she'd had in so long.

Part of her knew that under some metric of normality, Amy should be concerned that Faith was an admitted murderer – an admitted rapist, even – but normality had gone away a long time ago. Amy had manipulated people's minds for months. To get by, to survive, but that didn't change the fact that she'd gone into people's heads and fucked around with them, altered memories and done goddess knew how much damage to their psyches in the process. Amy was in no position to judge Faith.

And she didn't want to. Faith was there. Faith was offering to help her. Faith had told her her own story, sparing no details, making no excuses. Faith was extending an offer of hope, that ray of light, and Amy was going to take it, and hold on for dear life.

Some small part of her worried that somehow, at some point, Faith would yank the offer away, or that she'd leave. That she'd turn on her, that she'd abandon her. Somehow. For some reason. But Amy didn't believe that. Amy didn't think Faith would do that. She didn't know how or why she was so convinced. But she felt... a sort of resonance with the other woman.

All the while she'd been in the shower, scrubbing herself raw, Amy had been unable to keep her mind off of Faith. Thinking about the other woman had, for a few seconds at a time, at least, taken her mind away from the gnawing hunger.

She still felt, it, the hunger, the need for another hit. She wasn't in withdrawal yet, but she already wanted another one.

_But I can't go._ She'd told herself that a lot at first. Her own will wasn't enough.

_But Faith can help me. She can stop me. Right?_ She was a Slayer. Faith could hold her down, stop her from going. Somehow.

Amy felt more tears in the corners of her eyes as she realized just how weak and pathetic her thoughts sounded, but she also had no other options. Nothing else to work with. She _was_ weak. Right now, at least. She couldn't be strong on her own. Not right now.

The door opened and Amy looked up at the sound. Faith was walking in, and behind some other guy Faith didn't recognize. Tall, weathered and scruffy looking, wearing a turtleneck - despite the hot weather - and jeans.

“Amy. This is my Watcher, Wesley.” From watching the two of them, Amy could pick up on the awkwardness – both of them were too near each other for their own comfort, but the room's entryway wasn't exactly big. Which would make sense, given what Faith had done to him. She'd been amazed when Faith had gotten to the last of her story, how Wesley was her Watcher again, even after what she'd done to him.

_Maybe someday Willow will be able to forgive me for what I did to her._ One more piece of hope to hold onto. _I suppose I should... I don't know. I should... what is it, the twelve-step plan?_ Amy wasn't even sure if she had the number right. But...

_Maybe I should look into it. See if it's something I can actually do. Something that will help._ Amy didn't even have the slightest idea where to start.

“Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, to be exact.” The man said in an unsurprisingly British accent. He walked towards Amy a few steps and extended a hand. “Faith tells me you'll be coming with us when we leave Sunnydale.” Slowly, Amy accepted his hand and shook it, looking over to Faith.

“Leaving Sunnydale?”

Faith shrugged, “This is Buffy's town. She may not be raring to kick me out right now, but I don't want to stick around here forever. Sharing a Hellmouth with B didn't exactly work very well last time. Besides, there's already a Slayer here. But there's a whole damn world full of demons and vamps that need slaying, people that need saving. May as well fight them there.”

Faith walked over to Amy and sat down next to her. Unconsciously, Amy moved a little closer to the slayer. She wanted to reach for Faith's hand, but forced herself not to. She had no idea how Faith would react to that.

“Besides, is there anything keeping you here?” Faith asked slowly.

_No. Goddess no._ There wasn't a single solitary thing keeping her here. No family, no friends, no job. Her shitty apartment didn't count as a home in even the most expansive understanding of the word. But leaving Sunnydale?

_Why not? Why stay here? The only things here are Rack and bad memories._ Neither were good reasons to stay. And Faith – Faith was a good reason to leave.

“No. I guess not.” Amy finally said, speaking slowly. “I just... I've been here my whole life, pretty much.”

“Well, removing your physical access to Rack will, in theory, make it easier for you to recover.” Wesley pointed out.

“Make it harder for me to get another hit,” Amy corrected. “Not gonna make the withdrawal hurt any less. Won't make me want another hit any less.” She was craving another hit already. Leaving town wasn't gonna change that.

“Perhaps not. But I suspect every little bit will help. And Faith seems quite determined to help you.” Wesley shrugged. “I can't deny I don't feel sympathy for you as well.”

Amy bit back her immediate reaction. Saying 'I don't want your sympathy' wasn't going to help her at all, and he said sympathy, not pity. Somehow, even just meeting the guy, she couldn't believe he'd pity anyone. Not with an accent like that. And yes, Amy knew how little sense that made.

Taking a breath, Amy nodded. “Thank you.”

“I don't think you'll be thanking either of us, come tonight.” Wesley suggested. “How bad will it get tonight, if you don't get another hit?”

Amy closed her eyes, sucking in a breath. It was something Faith needed to know...

“It'll start with nausea. I'll throw up anything left in my stomach within minutes of it starting.” Which meant the only meal she'd really be able to keep in her stomach would be breakfast – maybe lunch – depending on just how early the nausea started. “I'll get cold, really cold. But putting a blanket on or whatever won't do anything.” She'd tried that. Tried lighting a little fire even, to warm herself up.   
  
Amy went on, describing her feelings from the times early on, when she'd tried to resist the urge to take another hit. She hadn't done it in months, but she remembered every one of those nights with almost as much clarity as she remembered the nights she had taken the hits. Remembered the bliss...  
  
 _No. I can't – I can't think about that._ Amy forced herself to focus on what it had taken to get those hits. The degrading acts, the whoring herself. Sure, she'd felt good once she'd had her hit, but she needed to remember what they'd cost her. What her addiction had seen her resort to.

“Then I'll start shaking. That's when things really get bad.” After Rack had first started having her whore herself out for a hit, Amy had tried to... tried to hold off. Night after night she'd tried to stay in her place, stay away from him, away from his 'friends'...

It was when the shaking started that the hunger, the gnawing, dark, emptiness at the pit of her stomach would start to envelop her. A few times she'd managed to stop herself from going, in the early days, but never two nights in a row. She'd get no sleep those nights, and she wouldn't feel any better come the sunlight...

“The cravings will really take over then. I... I'll try and leave. Get to him. Get another hit.”

“Not gonna happen.” Faith told her with certainty, taking Amy's hand in hers. Despite herself, Amy felt a slight shiver run up her spine at the contact – she wanted to lean into Faith, feel more of her touch. It didn't make any sense – Amy barely knew the other woman, and yes, she was... she was fucking beautiful, but this was hardly the time...

And yet...

Amy couldn't help herself. Faith's touch felt electric. It was just lust and hormones, and that feeling of hope Faith had given her, but still...

Looking down at their joined hands, Amy swallowed, licking her lips slowly, nervously. “You say that like I can just stop myself. I... I'm not that strong, Faith.”

“You are.” Faith said. “Needing help doesn't make you weak.” Faith scoffed. “I keep sounding like I know what I'm talking about. But... it doesn't make you weak, to need help. Because you _want_ to do better. You want to get past this.”

“I've wanted to do better plenty of times, Faith.” Amy said softly. “Hasn't worked.”

Faith squeezed her hand gently. “You can do it. Not on your own, maybe. But that doesn't mean it isn't you. You knew you needed help, and you took it when I offered it. I needed help way before I took it, but people offered plenty of times. You've already got one up on me. Anyone offer to help you before me?”

Amy thought back, but really, she couldn't think of any offers for help. Granted, she'd pushed everyone away with what she did to Willow, but still. _So I guess... what?_ Faith seemed to be saying that accepting the first offer meant she could do this – if Faith could do it after turning down so many offers for help...

“I'll stop you from getting a hit from Rack, Amy.” Faith said firmly. “One way or the other.”

“Unfortunately, it will be easier said than done.” Wesley added. “If you want to get clean, you will have to... get clean, as it were.” He gestured to her, moving his hand in a rough circle as he pointed it at her. “This dark magic clinging to your aura. It's distorted your magic, your perceptions.”

Amy blinked, confused. She accepted that she had dark magic on her aura. Understood how and why it was there. She'd used her magic for selfish ends. All the time. She'd used powerful magic in imbalancing ways – turning yourself into a rat didn't exactly fit to the natural order. And however Rack's drug worked, it definitely wasn't white magic.

But distorting her perceptions? What was he talking about? Her confusion must have shown on her face, because Wesley went on to explain.

“My education in magical theory is extensive. And I do have some practical experience.” Wesley held out his hand and Amy felt a flare of power from within him – a small flare, but real, actual power. A fireball formed just above his hand, growing to be the size of a closed fist. After a moment, Wesley closed his hand and the ball vanished. “I can only really do a few of those before I'm completely drained, and it's the only half-way decent evocation I know, but I can kill a vampire with one, if I aim it right.”

Faith looked at Wesley. “Why didn't you ever do that before, Wes? Like, I dunno, when Balthazar had you or when I was coming at you or-?”

“My father didn't approve. Neither does the Council, really. Conjuring fireballs isn't quite dark magic, but it's right there on the precipice. But frankly, I don't care what anyone has to say about my use of magic anymore, so...” Wesley shrugged. “My point is, however, that I understand the problem you're facing. Dark magic distorts the way one views the world. It colors your perceptions, and gives priority to you and your own problems. It magnifies your own worst traits. And it makes you more willing to use it, to resort to it, every time the opportunity arises. It will be a very uphill battle to help you as long as you have all that dark magic clinging to you.”

What Wesley was saying... it made sense. Amy didn't like that it did, but... it had gotten easier to use magic for herself every time she used it. _Is that why I lashed out at Willow like that? Because I was so focused on myself? I didn't think about anything else, or at least just didn't care?_

“It doesn't control you. It doesn't change you. It just... changes your priorities. And... I can appreciate that you're not going to like this idea, but speaking with Willow and Tara would be the best way to get an idea about how to get rid of this... dark magic clinging to you.” Wesley held up a hand, stopping any objection she might have before he could continue. “I'm not going to suggest that you speak with them. I will ask them. Things may have changed, but I doubt Miss Rosenberg has entirely lost her good heart. And perhaps, with her ability to see auras, Tara may have some idea as to how to clean them.”

It wasn't a lot to pin her hopes on, but Amy could only hope he was right.

“In the meantime, I have a few things I need to do, and I'm guessing you're hungry. At the very least, if you're going to be unable to keep down any dinner, you should eat now.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet, handing Faith thirty dollars. “That should be enough to cover the two of you at one of the restaurants nearby.” Wesley looked at Faith and smirked. “And assuming Travers does send you a regular paycheck, you won't be able to expect me to cover all your meals in the future.”

“Fair enough.” Faith replied, a smirk of her own forming on her face. Then she looked over at Amy. “Whadya say? Let's go get something to eat.” Then she added, dropping her gaze just a little, her voice a little lower, “or you can just go yourself.” Faith started to hand Amy two of the ten dollar bills, but Amy shook her head.

“No. Let's go.” This time, it was Amy who squeezed Faith's hand.

**May 5 th, 2002**

**1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale**

“Faith wants to _help_ Amy?! Did she go even more insane in prison? I mean, she seemed pretty okay the other day, but-” Willow started, but Wesley just cleared his throat and interrupted.  
  
“Faith is quite sane, I assure you, Willow. While I accept that you have your issues with Miss Madison – and not without justification, I might add – Faith has good reasons for wanting to help Amy, and I'm not especially aggrieved to the idea of helping her either.” Wesley couldn't say he was surprised by Willow's reaction. The redheaded witch was very much not pleased with Amy, and the idea of someone helping her...

  
“Look at it this way,” Wesley went on, “Faith helps Amy, and she departs this town with us when we leave at some point in the few days.” Faith was currently upstairs, talking with Buffy about that. Hopefully they'd be able to leave after tonight, given the rapidity of Slayer healing. “So she'll no longer be your problem in any form.”

“From what little I know about it from Amy, the process of your addiction was very different than Amy's, so I suspect her recovery will be quite different. All I want to know is if you know of any way to help cleanse her aura of all the dark magic Miss Maclay saw in it last night.” Wesley looked over at the blonde woman, who had yet to say anything on this subject.

  
“I... I don't know.” Tara said slowly. “Time can help... if you don't use any magic for long enough, that sort of thing starts to go away. But... how much Amy had...” She trailed off, then a thought suddenly occurred to her. “Whitelighters. They – they could help her.”

_Whitelighters?_ Wesley blinked. “I thought they were a myth.”

Tara shook her head, “No. They're real. They just... they just don't tend to show up around most people. Not directly. I had a whitelighter, before I came to Sunnydale, but the Hellmouth puts out too much evil energy for them to be able to set foot here.”

Willow blinked and looked over at Tara. “What's a whitelighter? What do you mean you 'had one'?”

“From the stories I've heard, they're essentially guardian angels for good witches.” Wesley offered, and Tara nodded.

  
“Basically.” Tara turned to Willow, “I don't know all the details – mine was never the most talkative – but a whitelighter is... angel is the best word for it. When someone really good dies, someone who has dedicated their life to working for others – peacefully, charitably -- then they can become a whitelighter. They're agents for good – they get assigned to white witches and protect them. Warn them when danger comes, guide them... when I decided to come here, I knew I was going to be losing mine. But if it wasn't for his help, I'd never have gotten away from...” Tara's voice trailed off as she looked away and Wesley watched Willow reach over and take her girlfriend's hand squeezing it. Wesley gave them the quiet moment before speaking.  
  
“I suppose that would explain why the Council thinks whitelighters are a myth. And you think one could help Amy?”

“If anyone could, they'd be able to. Their entire form is... basically pure white magic. They do exist to help people. If – if Amy really wants help, really wants to... to get better, do better... one should want to help her. Only... I don't know how to talk to one... or find one...” Then, as before, another idea suddenly came to her mind, the lightbulb obvious in her eyes.  
  
“No...” She frowned, “it's a long shot, but... the Charmed Ones...”

“The descendants of Melinda Warren, the trio of sisters?” Willow asked, then... “well, I guess it would make sense they'd have a whitelighter.”

  
“Not just – the stories you hear... one of the sisters married theirs.” Tara said softly. “Maybe if you spoke to him?”

“They're in San Francisco. The Halliwell sisters.” Willow supplied.

“It seems this is the day for myths to come true.” Wesley said wryly. Though the Council had always accepted that Melinda Warren's prophecy would one day come true, as far as Wesley knew, no one had known when, or that it was going to happen in their lifetime.

Wesley had only read about the prophecy, rather than studied it in any great deal, but the basics were clear. A trio of sisters, all witches, gifted with three powers they could use at will and great magical power, the ability to vanquish even some of the most powerful of demons. Well, demons of the proper category, anyway. A simple vanquishing spell wouldn't get rid of say, a Kith'harn demon, but then, you didn't need to vanquish that sort of demon.

_Of course, if we go to San Francisco and interact with them, we're more likely to attract the attention of that sort of demon._ The demons that drew their existence from the Source, rather than one of the other so called 'Paragons of Darkness' were a very different breed than the kind one might encounter on the Hellmouth, or the kinds of demons a Slayer was expected to go up against. But even San Francisco was likely to have demons of the more familiar kind, and vampires - everywhere had vampires.

“It's an idea, anyway,” Tara added. “I... I don't know for sure if it would work, but-”

  
“But, as you say, it is an idea.” Wesley agreed.


	6. The First Night

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series or Charmed.

Thanks to deiticlast and @bisexualxanderharris for beta-reading for me.

This fic is not meant to be a knock on anyone who ships Fuffy or thinks Buffy is bi/gay or whatever. For the purposes of this story though, Buffy is straight and never had a thing for Faith in that sense. This does not invalidate any interpretations or headcanons you have, however. It's just that this fic breaks down this particular way.

On the subject of Faith and needing but not wanting help/etc in season 3– I have very complicated thoughts on the subject, but what I have Faith say is how I think she'd respond to it all now – I think she's taking a bit too much blame onto herself, but I think that would be IC to how she'd have acted at this point.

Battered Souls

By Alkeni

Chapter 6: The First Night

**May 5th, 2002**

**1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale**

“So...” Faith said awkwardly, “Not that I... Don't appreciate that you've been trusting me with the streets of Sunnydale the last two nights, 'cause I do, but uhm...” She shifted a little, looking just past Buffy, who was seated on her bed, an open book on her lap.

“You want to know when you can leave town because this whole sharing a Hellmouth thing is super-weird and awkward?” Buffy finished, as if reading her mind.

_Well... yeah._ Besides, the sooner she got Amy out of town, the better. Especially since... _I really can't do patrol tonight. Can't leave her to do first night of cold turkey on her own._ Faith had read enough literature about going clean in prison to know that cold turkey was a bad idea. But didn't really seem like there were a lot of options here. Amy was hooked, and with this magic-drug... well, it seemed like was an all or nothing proposition.

Besides, Faith was guessing Amy wouldn't be up for weaning herself off slowly.

“Something like that," Faith said finally. She laughed humorlessly, “glad to hear you're getting the same vibe.”

“After everything that's happened to us, I don't see how it couldn't be a little awkward," Buffy agreed. She closed the book and sat up a little more. “I can probably start patrolling again tomorrow night, to be honest. I've been getting bored just sitting here, can't go out. Doctors won't like it, but then, well, plus side of being a Slayer, I guess.”

“One of the good parts," Faith agreed. “Hell, there's a lot of good parts to it.”

“You always did like being a Slayer more than I did," Buffy observed, “Really... reveled in it.”

“It's a lot more complicated than that, but yeah, I jumped in with both feet after Diana told me the full story, after I suddenly got all this power. How things went with me growing up? Being a Slayer meant I got to settle a few scores too.” She'd tracked down that dealer who sold her mother the drugs she'd OD'd on and beaten him up, flushed his stash down the drain. At the time, killing him hadn't crossed her mind though. Which...

Well, that was probably a good thing.

“I never did really think about your side of it all, everything that you were dealing with. I should have – after I realized you were living in that-” Buffy started, her voice full of regret.

Faith held up a hand, “B, lemme stop you there. Yeah, it woulda been nice, someone offered to help me out when I needed it. But... I dunno if I would've have taken it. You learn things about yourself when you get stuck in prison for a few years. And you learn things in general. You tried to help me with what little you knew about. You made some mistakes -- _I_ made some mistakes -- and I pushed people away from me. Not saying things might not have gone different if I'd gotten more help, but...” Faith shrugged helplessly.

“You can't help someone who doesn't want it. And I'm not sure I would've wanted it. At all. At least... I wouldn't have admitted I wanted it, I think," she finished lamely, unsure.

“I suppose if you're telling me not to hang onto regret with how things went down between us, I shouldn't.” Buffy sighed. “Not as if I don't have a lot of them to hold onto as it is.”

Faith shifted on one foot, unsure if she really wanted to ask the question that was on the tip of her tongue. They were talking, making some sort of loose rapport... kind of...

_Screw it._

“Speaking of regrets and how it all broke down between us back then... I gotta ask you something.” Faith crossed her arms, looking Buffy in the eye.

“Ask away.” Buffy turned to face her more.

“I must've flirted with you like... a dozen times every day before I killed Finch," Faith said slowly. “Did you never notice, or were you just not interested and didn't know what to say? I mean, I already know you're as straight as a ruler. I just...” Faith trailed off, not even sure what she was wanting to know.

Buffy laughed, and this time there was genuine humor her voice. “I suppose – Yeah. That's one way to put it. It's not that I wasn't flattered by your attention, Faith... but to put it crudely, I guess I'm too much of a fan of the penis. I didn't notice all of your flirting, if you really did it that often, but I noticed some... at first I was still dealing with everything with Angel being gone, then he came back... I just didn't want to deal with it. Besides...”

Now it was Buffy's turn to shrug helplessly. “I'd never really been hit on by a girl before. Didn't really know how to handle it.”

Faith laughed. “We would have been amazing, B. I coulda _rocked_ your world.” She smirked as she said it – yeah, they would have been something, but mostly she was saying it the way she was to mess with Buffy.

“Maybe.” Buffy shrugged, flushing a little. “But it's not going to happen.” She frowned. “Changing the topic – Willow says you brought Amy around last night?”

“Well, I didn't know it was Amy. Didn't know the history Red had with her. Just found a vampire about to mack on her while she was whacked out on something and had her telling me I should have let it kill her.”

“ She-?” Buffy's eyes widened. “She _wanted_ a vampire to kill her?”

“She just wanted to die. Vamp was just the way it broke down. Girl's been through a lot of shit. Doesn't make what she pulled on Willow okay, but... she's coming with us when Wes and I leave town. Girl needs help – I may not be the perfect one for it, but no one else is offering.”

“No. Not really," Buffy agreed. “I can't say I'd trust her in this house, around Willow. Not right now, anyway. But... well, Angel was right that you deserved a second chance, and.... like I said, new perspectives over the last couple years. So... if you think Amy should have a chance...”

“ She made some bad choices. Didn't even kill anyone. Gives her a step up on me. She just needs to get clean, get herself sorted out.” _And maybe I can sort myself out helping her._ Faith stood there, silent for a few moments, not sure what else to say. Buffy was just as silent.

“Yeah, still awkward," Buffy said after more long silence. “Like I said, though, at the hospital... don't be a stranger when you're gone?” Buffy raised her voice a bit at the end. “I really think – I really think I'd like trying the whole penpal thing. Someone to share the Slaying with. There's no one else that really gets it, you know? Not totally.”

“I get what you mean. You're right, though. Sister Slayers and all that.” But if they were sisters, Buffy was the favored child everyone loved, that got all the attention. Faith... not so much. It was what it was, and wasn't even Buffy's fault. She'd long since stopped resenting her fellow slayer over it. “I'll write. Dunno where we're going to be stopping for any length of time, but.. yeah. Once we stick around somewhere, so I've got a return address… Dunno what I'll say.”

“Doesn't have to be anything big. Just... whatever. I'm not an expert on the whole penpal thing either. Suppose we'll work it out together?”

“Guess we'll have to.”

**May 5th, 2002**

**Doublemeat Palace, Sunnydale**

Amy wondered how she'd managed to luck into meeting Faith. How she'd been... well, blessed to get someone willing to help her.

After carefully driving away anyone who might be remotely inclined to help her, Amy had given up. She'd been ready to die. And now... now she had hope. She had... she could see the surface again. See light.

Of course, right now what she could see was the vaguely unappetizing cheap burger and fries on the table in front of her. She didn't want to eat it, but she needed to eat and digest something before the nausea set in. She'd had breakfast, but she needed to at least try for lunch too.

“San Francisco. You want me to go see the Charmed Ones?” Amy shook her head. “You're nuts, Wesley. The Charmed Ones vanquish dark witches, they don't help them.” And why would a Whitelighter help her? Her mom wasn't the only witch in the family tree – and guessing from the older parts of the spellbook, none of them were 'good'. She'd never really stopped to think about what that meant.

Course, she'd never really stopped to think about what using her mother's spellbook had meant. She'd just charged ahead, used magic, gone to Rack...  Anything to be sure she had enough make to be safe -- from anyone, from anything.. And look where that had taken her.

Hell, or close enough.

“ There's a difference between being a dark witch and using dark magic, Amy," Wesley replied. “They can't use their magic against you unless you're harming innocents. That's one of the rules of their kind of white magic.” _You don't call fucking with my landlord's head to make him thinking I'm paying rent not harming innocents?_ Amy had done it to survive, but that didn't make it okay. Nothing she did was okay.

Faith cleared her throat a little from her seat across from Amy. “Okay, so I hate to interrupt, but, someone wanna give me the low-down on these Charmed Ones?”

“They're an old legend. A witch, Melinda Halliwell, before she was burned at the stake, prophesied that her descendents would give rise to a trio of powerful witches, sisters: The Charmed Ones. With great power and the ability to vanquish powerful demons. Or something like that.” Amy shrugged.

“So what, they're like the Slayers of Witches?” Faith took a sip of her milkshake, then looked meaningfully at Amy's uneaten meal. After a moment, Amy picked up the burger and took a bite. Pretty standard crappy and cheap food. What she was used to.

“Close enough," Wesley agreed. “It’s not uncommon for powerful white witches to protect innocents and the Charmed ones are the most powerful.”

“And what about these 'Whitelighters'?” Faith looked over at Amy. “You never had one of these 'guardian angels for good witches'?

“Faith, I'm not a good witch," Amy replied flatly. “Never have been. Mom wasn't, grandma wasn't. Nobody was.” Amy had never known her grandmother, but between the lines of Catherine Madison's journals and workbook, Amy got the impression that Anna Gardenier had been as shitty a mom as Catherine herself had been. Probably a family tradition of dark magic and the worst parenting imaginable.

_One more fucking reason atop thousands to never have a kid._

“Well, maybe you get to start a new tradition then,” Faith replied, reaching for one of Amy's fries, raising an eyebrow. Amy nodded. “If Tara's right and one of them can help you...”

“I just need to get clean.” Amy took a few more bites of her burger, swallowing in silence. “There's nothing fancy to it. I just...” She trailed off. “I just have to do it.” She put her food down, what little appetite she had gone.

“We'll make sure you don't go back to Rack,” Faith promised, reaching over to take her hand. Amy felt the Slayer squeeze her hand tightly – not enough to hurt though. “I promise.”

“It’s not -” Amy started, then bit her lip, cutting herself off. No one had ever stood between her and trying to get a hit. No one but Rack and herself. She wanted help, she did... she knew she couldn't do this on her own. But...

“If you try and stop me... I might...” Amy bit her lip, “I could hurt you. When... when the craving really takes hold...”

“I'm a Slayer, Amy. I can take a little punishment.”

“I'm a witch, Faith. I can summon fireballs that make the one Wesley called up look like a Bic lighter in comparison.” She ignored the indignant protest from the Watcher. It was true – his fireball was a pretty impressive spell for a dabbler like him, long on knowledge and short on power, but Amy could do a hell of a lot more than that. “If I... if I get it into my head to hurt you... to get to Rack no matter what...”

Faith squeezed Amy's hand again, and this time Amy felt a – a jolt pass up her arm. “I survived getting stabbed in the gut. And... damnit Amy, what do you want me to do, not help you? I can't do that.”

“ _Why?_ Why do you care so much?” Amy demanded, finally starting to raise her voice above the quiet tone they'd been using in their corner booth. “Why? Why are you willing to-” Amy realized how loud she was speaking and lowered her voice. “ _Why?_ ” Her voice broken, the word little more than a plaintive plea.

“Because I do. Because I want to see you get better, do better. I... I don't know why. There's the reasons I gave you this morning, and they're all true, but... there's more to it... I just don't know what it is.” Faith trailed off. “Maybe you’re going to want to hurt me, if it comes to that. But maybe it won't. There's only one way to find out.”

Wesley, who had remained silent, leaned in a little. “This isn't, perhaps, the best place to have this conversation. Finish your food, if you think you're going to be able to keep it down.” There was something almost comical about the way that he told her, as if he was a father telling a petulant child to eat their vegetables. Not really, but there was almost a tiny bit of that vibe to his tone of voice.

Of course, as the word father crossed her mind...

_Dad – please, you just need to listen to me- it's – it's not my fault..._

_Not your fault! You ran away for three years, Amy! I didn't know if you were dead, or alive – and in Sunnydale of all places –until you just now walked up to this door, I thought you_ _**were** _ _dead! Do you have any idea what that's-_

_Dad! No – I didn't -_

Amy didn't realize she was hyperventilating until Faith's hand on her shoulder brought her back to the now.

“Amy!” Faith “Are you-”

Amy scooted out of the booth, standing up quickly. “I just – I just need some air.” Amy didn't stop moving until she was out front. She was still breathing quickly – too quickly – but she closed her eyes, trying to force herself take deep breaths.

“Amy?” Faith said from behind her. “What – what happened?”

“Nothing – just... I just started thinking about dad. About... about what he said to me... when I went to go see him.” Amy wrapped her arms around herself. She wanted another hit even more now. Not from the withdrawal, or the hunger gnawing at her. But because then she wouldn't have to think about it all...

_I could ditch her now, get to Rack's..._ Amy knew she could do it – it would be far from hard. She didn't know any invisibility spells, but she knew more than enough magic to make sure she could get away from Faith and be on her way to...

Faith put her hand on Amy's shoulder, “Amy, your dad's an ass, from what you said about that conversation. Fuck him. What he said – doesn't matter.”

Amy reached up her hand and put it on Faith's, slowing her breaths down, even though she could feel her heart racing all of a sudden. “I wish it was that easy, but – thanks.”

“There's not gonna be an 'easy' for a long time, Amy," Faith told her. “Wish I could tell you that it was but... well... haven't really reached 'easy' myself, so...” Amy nodded, then turned around, letting Faith's hand slip off of her.

“We should uhm – we should stop by my apartment, pick up my stuff.” Amy didn't want to go back there, but she did need clothes, even if she wanted to burn practically all of them. There wasn't much in that rat's nest to attract her now. She'd sold everything else, or traded it to Rack.

“Why do I get the feeling that you don't want to do that?” Faith asked. “You don't sound enthusiastic about taking me back to your place.” Faith smirked, and Amy couldn't help but smile a little at her tone.

“It's the 'my place' part that's the issue, not you," Amy replied. And under other circumstances – almost any other circumstances – she'd be all over a chance with Faith. The girl was hot – beautiful, even – and there was that jolt when they touched, sometimes.

But now – even if Faith was interested, which Amy doubted, given everything -- this... god, this wasn't the time for anything. And...

It wasn't that Amy was... repulsed by the idea of sex or... anything like that. But after months of... entertaining Rack's friends and associates... Amy didn't want -

Well, she wasn't sure what she didn't want. But she wanted time or something. Whatever the reason, the cards weren't right.

“My apartment is... well, let's just say that the cage Willow put me in while I was a rat was nicer,” Amy finished.

“If you don't need anything from there, then you don't need to go there,” Faith pointed out. “You get a blank slate, leaving town. Start over.”

“I do kinda need my clothes," Amy pointed out.

“We can always get new ones. You gotta know how cheap the thrift stores in Sunnydale are. All that... all the extra inventory and all that.” Amy did know that – with the death rate, dead people's things got donated all the time. “You don't need to wear the clothes if you don't want to.”

“We don't have to..," Amy started, then cut herself off. No, they didn't have to. But Faith was offering. And... new clothes would be nice. Anything but the one's she'd had to wear during her... sessions, at Rack's. Or had to pull back on before she went out afterwards...

“But... I would... that would be nice.” She looked down at what she was wearing, “Then... maybe I could borrow your lighter, burn these?”

Faith nodded, “Totally.”

**May 5th, 2002**

**Motel Room, Sunnydale**

“Faith, I'm more than willing to stay and help," Wesley murmured to Faith, looking through the open door at Amy, who was sitting on the bed, already starting to shake.

Faith shook her head, “The room would get damn cramped with three of us in there. Besides, this is gonna be hard enough for Amy as it is, having me there. And I can take a lot more punishment than you, if she really decides to force her way past me to get to Rack. I don't want to see you get hurt while that's happening. Just do your research, and I'll let you know if I need any help with her. Hopefully we can find something that can help... some spell, or potion or-”

“Spells are what helped get Amy into this,” Wesley pointed out, “I'm not saying she should simply stop using magic, the way Willow seems to have. Magic is a part of her – I think Willow's choice was perhaps a mistake, though I understand how there are other things at work with her. But Amy's going to have a difficult enough time with this without cutting herself off from part of herself.”

“But,” Wesley finished, “she can't just magic her way out of this. Magic creates balance, eventually, one way or another. We'll have to help her the hard way.”

“Alright. And hopefully, if she's cool with it, maybe these can help stop her from going to Rack. Or something.” She held up the rope and handcuffs Wesley had given her. Unable to help herself, Faith added with a smirk. “sure you're not going to need these cuffs tonight Wes? I mean, you can always go out, find yourself a girl - or guy: I don't judge.” If Wesley wasn't at least a little bit gay, she'd eat these handcuffs.

Wesley rolled her eyes, even as he flushed a little. “Those cuffs are for professional purposes only, Faith. Wearing them while engaging in... sex would only hurt. They made of hard, unpadded metal. Unless the person wearing them is a true masochist, there's nothing fun about that.”

Faith looked down at the cuffs, then back to Wesley, teasing him. “Really? Know that from personal experience, do you?” She really wouldn't have figured Wes for being into that sort of thing, but then, well, what did they say about the quiet and straight-laced ones?

By the same token, someone looking at Faith might have figured she was into all sorts of freaky shit. And really, Faith wasn't. She had her fair share of kinks, but compared to some people? She was downright vanilla: missionary-position-with-the-lights-off, relatively speaking.

“Not from wearing them,” Wesley replied coolly’ “Like I said, they're for professional reasons.”

“Oh, so you're telling me you still have the fun-cuffs then?” Faith expected Wesley to flush more and splutter, but he just shook his head, smirking himself.

“I haven't owned a pair of 'fun-cuffs', as you put it, in over a year, since my last relationship ended. Now, if you're done trying to fluster me?”

Faith nodded. “Go, go, ruin all my fun.” Faith shooed him with one hand and walked back into the hotel room, closing the door behind her. Amy was sitting on the bed still, still shaking, her hands clenched tight by her sides.

“Amy," Faith said, approaching the witch, “Are you-” Well, she couldn't ask if Amy was alright. Of course she wasn't alright. “How bad?” She asked, changing her question.

“ It's just starting. The nausea...” Amy shook her head, “It hasn't started yet. And I think... I think we did lunch early enough that I'm not gonna lose that too.” Amy was wearing a new outfit – jeans and a red long-sleeved T-shirt. Faith had expected her to... run through the motel laundry or something first, since they were thrift-store clothes, but she'd just cast a cleaning spell on them.  _Well, there are upsides to magic, yeah._

“That's.... that's good.” Faith held up the rope and cuffs, biting her lip. Hesitantly, she asked: “Look, Amy, you know how you said you were worried you might... hurt me, trying to get to Rack? I was just – I was thinking, if you-”

Amy shook her head, scooting back from Faith, from the cuffs and rope in her hand. “No. No. God no.” The witch's tone was about as violently firm on the negative as it could get, despite the slight quaver in her voice. “Just... no. “ Dropping the restraints and kicking them under the bed, Faith nodded.

“Alright. I can get that. Not everyone's cool with that, even when it's to help. Not a problem. Just a thought.” Faith sat down on the bed, and Amy scooted back to where she'd been, so they were next to each other again.

“Sorry," Amy said slowly.

“You don't need to apologize," Faith reassured her. “Like I said, not everyone's cool with that.”

“It's not just that...” Amy bit her lip. “Two of the... 'associates' that Rack had me... fuck, to get my hit... a married couple: she liked to... restrain me. They both did, really. I always agreed, of course. Didn't really have much of a choice...” She swallowed, clenching her hands even tighter. Faith reached over, putting a hand on Amy shoulder again. Faith didn't need to hear the story, if Amy didn't want to tell it.

“It's alright," Faith assured her. “You did what you felt like you had to do. But this is why you can't go back to Rack. He's just gonna make you do it again. And again. And again. You go back tonight, and he wins.” It wasn't that simple, Faith knew that, but...

She was doing what she could, saying what she could. Maybe it would help. Or maybe Faith would have to force Amy to stay, to not get another hit. Hold her down, or something.

Amy nodded, shaking more. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, and Faith realized it wasn't shaking that Amy had been doing. Well, more than that, she'd been shivering. Faith put her hand on Amy's hand, since her arms weren't bare, and almost recoiled. It was like touching an icicle or something.

“Jesus, Amy – when you said you were going to get cold...” Faith got up, grabbing at the blanket to wrap it around the witch, but Amy just shook her head.

“It won't help. This isn't something getting warm will help with.” Amy took a deep breath. “Nothing gets rid of this part. Or any part.” She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Is anything – god, Amy... is there...” She couldn't just stand there and watch. She could hear the pain in Amy's voice – the nausea was setting in there with the hunger, the need. She remembered seeing her mother go into withdrawal ones, that time between dealers, when her old one had been picked up by the cops and when she'd found a new one. Faith had been six at the time – she hadn't really understood what it meant then, but

“ Just stay," Amy begged. “Just... make sure I don't go back. You're right... I don't want to do... do it for him again. I _can't_. Not again.” Faith squeezed Amy's hand gently, trying to ignore the electric feeling that went up her arm as she did so. This was _so_ not the time or place to be attracted to this girl.

“I promise. I'll make sure you don't go.” Faith kept holding onto Amy's hand, ignoring how cold it still felt. “Would- would talking help?”

“Maybe... might... distract me a little. Could you... tell me more about you? Your life?”

“It's not really an uplifting story of hope and happiness, Amy,” Faith pointed out. “My mom died when I was eight, last time I saw my dad was when I was two and a half. If the bastard's still alive, he's been out of prison himself for a few years, but I don't know much about him. After mom died, I bounced around the foster system for a few years, but mostly... had to raise myself. Spent most of my time on the streets. Ran way from the last foster place when I was fifteen. I uh... did what I had to.” Granted, she'd never had to prostitute herself, in the most technical sense. She'd gone through a series of crappy boyfriends though, holding onto each one as a way to support herself. That had worked out about as well as you could expect it to.

Between that and stealing shit, she'd managed to stay alive.

“And then you became a Slayer?”

“Yeah. One night, I had this dream. Didn't know what it was then, but turns out it was this crazy vamp, Drusilla, killing Kendra, the Slayer before me. Had the stuff being a Slayer comes with. My watcher, Diana, showed up a few days later. I didn't trust her at first, but... then... well, she was alright for a few months. I had a place, someone who cared... and then Kakistos killed her, right in front of me.” She closed her eyes, remembering Diana's screams, her desperate last order for Faith to run.

“Sorry..," Amy said, and Faith looked to her to see tears starting to form in Amy's eyes as she gasped in pain, her free hand on her forehead, pressing hard. Amy was still shivering, her hand still freezing in Faith's.

“ I didn't mean – to – bring up painful... I'm sorry. I'm so-” Amy closed her eyes, “Oh god- it  _hurts_ . I forgot about this part. How did I forget about this part?” She threw her head back and gasped again, keeping her eyes clenched shut. Amy took a deep breath. “Keep talking. Please. Just – something. Anything to...” She bit her lip, and Faith watched her bite hard enough to draw blood.

“Amy. Stop. You're going -” Faith was interrupted by a low moan of pain as Amy fell backwards, sprawling on the bed, her body starting to shake, more than the shivering before.

Shit. This was happening fast.

“It's always this fast. And it's not going to end... I have to – I have to go... no. NO. I can't.” Amy squeezed Faith's hand tighter. “Don't let me go. Don't let go. Faith, I need you to stop me. Whatever it takes. You have to stop me.”

“I will," Faith promised.

“Whatever it takes. Even if it means like... knocking me out or something... if it gets bad enough – oh god-!” Amy cried out in pain again. “How the fuck did I forget about this part?!” Amy's agony made Faith feel like she was being cut at, the cries of pain almost making her hurt in turn. Faith didn't get it. She cared about Amy, wanted to help her, wanted to give her the same help she got from Angel. But why this much? And why was it – why were the pained noises coming out of Amy's mouth affecting her so badly?

“Even – even if you have to use the rope, Faith, even if you have to tie me down.”

“You told me not to...” Wasn't even five minutes ago that Amy had asked her not to.

“I know. And I still – I still don't want you to. But if you have to – if you have to... do it. Promise. I can't go back to Rack. I can't do it again.”

“You won't. I promise. I'll do what I have to.” Faith really didn't want to tie Amy down, given how violently she'd rejected the idea before, but Amy had just made her promise to, if she had to...

Faith needed to give Amy something else to focus on. Maybe... “I do have a few... happy stories, I suppose you'd call them. You wanna hear them?” Amy nodded.

“Well... there was this one time. I was... six, I think. It was one of my mom's good weeks. She'd have them, occasionally. She'd still be doing the drugs, but... I dunno. Somehow she'd put herself together for a week or so... actually be a mom. She would actually cook a real dinner every night, and...” Faith told her the story of that week. Going to the beach one day, and real dinners every night. Having her mom brush her hair and asking about her day at school. Faith talked, her story interrupted by pained noises from Amy, but every time, Amy gestured for her to keep going.

It was as she was nearing the end of the story, nearly an hour later, that Faith realized Amy's hand didn't feel cold anymore. Her first thought was just that her own hand had gotten used to the cold, but as she put her other hand onto Amy's, she realized that no, that wasn't it.

Amy's hand just wasn't cold anymore. Just that hand though, Faith quickly realized as she checked Amy's other hand, her arm under her sleeve...

“Faith- what are you doing?” Amy looked over at her.

“Your hand. It's not cold anymore. Feel it.” She grabbed Amy's still cold hand and put it on her other one. Amy's eyes widened.

“How- how is that possible?”

Faith shook her head, “I... I don't know.” Her throat felt dry, after talking nearly nonstop for an hour. “Amy I need to- I need to drink some water. Do you want – will it help?”

Amy shook her head, “No- not now. I'll just... I'll just throw that up too...”

“I'll be right back.” Faith grabbed one of the individually wrapped plastic cups off the dresser and went into the bathroom, unwrapping it up and filling it, downing the water quickly.

The only think Faith could figure on Amy's hand was the skin to skin contact... the physical act of holding it long term was why her hand wasn't cold anymore.

Tossing the cup into the trash, Faith went back over to the bed. Amy was struggling to sit up, still shaking and shivering. Faith reached for her, but as she was about to take her hand that was still cold, more bluish sparks, like last night, flew off of Amy and into Faith's hand, sending another strange tingle through her body.

“Oh god, Faith. I'm sorry. I must be – my magic... it's firing off. Alright?” Amy got out, screwing her eyes shut as she started to breathe quick, shallow breaths.

“I'm fine. It didn't – it didn't hurt.” Faith licked her lips for a moment, then went for the blunt approach. “Amy, I think the reason your hand is feeling warm is because I was... because I was holding it. Some sort of... skin to skin contact thing. This is gonna sound weird, but... but if I put my arms around your middle, like under your shirt or something... god, it sounds more than weird. Sounds like I'm coming on to you or something. But... I'm just trying to help.”

A laugh – an actual laugh – escaped Amy's lips. “It does. Some other time – I'd want you to be coming on to me.” She winced and closed her eyes. “Fuck. Sorry. I didn't mean – I didn't mean for that... out loud...”

Faith shook her head, “It's fine. It's nice to hear. But... look, Amy, I don't know if it'll help, but-”

“I'll take anything. Do it," Amy pleaded. Faith swallowed and nodded. This wasn't a sexual thing, and while Amy was hot, there really wasn't anything hot about the way Amy was shaking and shivering and hurting so bad. Sitting behind Amy, Faith slid her arms under the witch's shirt, letting out a small hiss of shock at the sudden cold sensation all over her arms and held Amy close, arms wrapped around her middle. It was a little awkward and an uncomfortable position, but if it helped Amy even a little bit, Faith would take it.

“ You'll make it through this Amy. However long it takes,” Faith murmured in Amy's ear, Amy's back pressed up against her. She could feel every shiver and shake, every minute shudder of pain, feel the moans and gasps as they reverberated through Amy's body. “You'll make it through this.”


	7. The Long Road Begins

**Disclaimer:** I own neither Buffy, Angel nor Charmed  
**Author's Note:** I appreciate that this chapter stretches a little, perhaps, but thematically ending it when I did made the most sense to me. The trio will reach San Francisco next chapter, however. And then the next phase of the story will begin.

Thanks to deiticlast for beta-reading.

Battered Souls

By Alkeni

Chapter 7: The Long Road Begins

**May 6th, 2002**

**Motel Room, Sunnydale**

Amy didn't remember falling asleep. But she must have at some point, because she was waking up now. She was... something. She felt... warm. At least most of her upper body. Her legs, her feet... still freezing. And yet every single one of her nerves also felt like it was on fire. The pain... how had she fallen asleep like this? How had she -

She sucked in air, arching her back, trying to escape the agony even though she couldn't. And that's when she realized there were arms around her. Holding her in place. Amy felt her throat clench, her heart race even faster than it already had been. A faster heart rate meant faster breathing. In and out and -

"Amy." A female voice said behind her, and Amy felt the arms around her move away, the bed shifting as someone moved... and Amy realized who it was. Where she was. She was...

Unable to stop herself from letting out a low whine of pain, despite everything, Amy still managed to take a breath that vaguely resembled deep.

"Faith..." That's why she didn't feel cold, at least somewhat. The whole... skin to skin contact thing. If she wasn't in so much agony, the thought of a woman like Faith sleeping next to her, arms around her, under her shirt like that would have her flushing and more. But right now, she barely had the presence of mind to be able to speak. "When... when did I..."

"Fall asleep?" Faith finished for her. "I don't know." Faith put a hand on her shoulder. "Is there anything I can..." Faith bit her lip, hesitating.

"There's nothing." Amy managed to get out. Before she could say more, a spasm of pain rolled through her, starting from her stomach and working its way up. Arching her back again, she rolled, trying to escape the pain... and all she managed to do was roll out of the bed, landing with a loud thump on the floor. The pain was unbearable as she hit the ground, unable to suppress the cry of pain that escaped her, an agonized wail ripping out of her throat.

Amy curled into a ball, pulling her knees up to her chest, as if that would help. But it didn't. It never did. The pain was unbearable. She couldn't process anything. Any thoughts. All she could experience - to call it thinking or even feeling was a misnomer - was the gnawing hunger and need that was bad, and worse than ever. About the pain. About the freezing. About how she wanted to empty a stomach that was already empty. About _why_ she'd been so ready to die two nights ago.

About the solution. She needed another hit. She had to have another hit. If she could just… get one more taste, one more little taste, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. As that thought finally entered her mind, it gave her something to latch onto. She was an idiot to try and think she could get over this, get over her addiction - she had to have another hit.

She had to see Rack. Whatever it took, she had to see him. She had to...

She had one thought now. Through all the pain. She needed more. She needed... she needed it to end.

**May 6th, 2002**

**Motel Room, Sunnydale**

Faith looked at Amy, doubled over, curled up in a ball and felt her throat constricting. Amy was hurting right there in front of her and Faith had _no_ idea how to help her. When Amy had wailed, it had felt like a cut right to the bone. Scrambling out of bed, Faith crouched by Amy, putting a hand on the other woman's shoulder again.

"Amy! Amy! I'm here. I'm here for you." There was nothing she could do. She felt helpless, everything spinning out of control. "Stay with me," she said, without even realizing what she was saying, without knowing if it would be of any value to say. Reaching one hand under Amy, she helped pull the girl into a sitting position, her arms still around her knees.

_Wes. Wes will know what to do. Something._

"Advil... Advil ain't gonna do anything for you, right? God, Amy, please, tell me there's something I can do to help you." Faith was no longer trying to figure out why it mattered so much to her that Amy not be hurting, that she help Amy. Right now, Amy was suffering right in front of her, and every pained gasp and whimper and shudder was leaving Faith ever more desperate for a way to help her.

Amy needed help, Faith wanted to help her, and it killed her that she couldn't figure out what to do for her.

"Get... get me..." Amy started, getting a few gasped words out between whimpers and plaintive noises of pain.  

"Get you what? Amy, I can't - I can't help you if I don't know how!" Faith pleaded with the witch, her hands on the woman's shoulders, trying to keep her at least upright.

"Get me- Get me to Rack," Amy managed to say and beneath all the pain there was another note, almost threatening and demanding. It made Faith's blood run cold. Amy had told her this could happen, but...

Amy wanted another hit. Faith had promised she wasn't going to let her go back there, and she was going to keep that promise.

"No. I'm not taking you back there," Faith said firmly, grabbing Amy around the torso and lifting her up, ignoring - or trying to - the pained cries the witch made as she was dropped onto the bed.

"You have to - Faith... please!" Even as she pleaded and begged, Faith could still hear the demand, the threat. She had experience with the thinly veiled 'or else', and right now, in her withdrawal-addled state, Amy was adding a pretty damn thinly veiled 'or else'. It was about as useless as that curtain in Wizard of Oz. "You have to help me. You have to-" Amy arched her back again. "You have to take me to him." She started to sit up, but Faith put her hand on Amy's chest and pushed her back down lightly.

"No, I don't. I'm not letting you go back to him. The whole fucking point is to get you off his fucking drug, not right back onto it. You know what he's going to make you-"

"I don't care!" Amy shouted, and Faith saw her eyes blazing with a passionate  fire that she hadn’t seen in the witch yet. Amy grabbed onto Faith's wrist and tore the Slayer's arm off of her, which only happened because the act completely surprised her. Amy started to get up, but Faith wasn't going to let her.

Faith put both of her arms on Amy's shoulders and pushed her back down onto the bed before climbing onto it and straddling her, her own legs on either side of Amy's as she held her down, looming over the witch. Amy struggled violently against the restraint. Under other circumstances, this position, this closeness might have turned Faith on, but right now, there wasn't anything farther from her mind than sex.

"Get the **fuck** off of me Faith!"  Amy's voice was now a pure snarled demand, no hint of anything else. And the voice was all… deep and demonic, like something out of a horror movie. It still sounded vaguely like Amy, but not. "If you won't help me, I'll do it myself. Fuck you, and fuck your fake friendship! This is what I need-"

"You don't need it. That shit is what's making you like this. Amy, please, don't!" Faith pressed harder on Amy's shoulders, the witch now too busy fighting to get her next hit to let out cries or whimpers of pain. It was like she was completely different in her pursuit of another hit, and she was.

"I need it! You have no idea what it's like! Faith, please!" Amy was back to begging as she stopped struggling. "Please, I need it. Just a little... you can make Rack give me another hit. Just one... just one more for the road?" Amy's voice was eager, earnest, and Faith almost believed her for half a second. But not really even for that long. Faith knew feeble rationalizations and excuses when she heard them. She'd made plenty of those herself.

"No. Amy, you have one, it'll just start this..." Faith bit her lip. She was making this all up as she went along, and it wasn't working. It wasn't gonna work. "You're not going. I'm going to make sure you don't." Moving one of her hands from Amy's shoulder to press firmly on her chest, Faith reached down with her other hand to under the bed, where she'd left the rope and cuffs last night.

Faith hated the idea of doing this to Amy, given how violently she'd reacted to the initial idea, but she had said, later, to do it if she had to, and right now, Faith was pretty sure she had to.

Unfortunately, to get her hand under the bed, Faith had to close all distance between her body and Amy's, their bodies pressed up against each other, her face basically right next to Amy's... Faith felt the rope under her fingertips and grabbed onto it, starting to lift it up and pull back. She wasn't that far from Amy's face though when the witch suddenly pushed her head up a little and pressed her lips to Faith's.

Faith had never really been one for kissing. Her sex life had always been a very quick thing - get off, get the other person off (if they hadn't already), move on. Kissing was a romantic thing, and she rarely did it, for obvious reasons. Faith and romance? Not even passing acquaintances.

The feeling of Amy's lips on hers made Faith's mind completely blank out for a few seconds, all thought escaping her as she felt the electricity - as fucking overused as as that word was - in the kiss, the connection... One of Amy's hands reached up to tangle in Faith's hair and Faith couldn't help but moan into the kiss, the feeling...

The feeling was intense. Amy's lips were full and suddenly, Faith felt... the whole world give way. Her hand on Amy's chest relaxed and she let her other arm go lax, still holding onto the rope, but hanging off the bed. Their bodies were pressed against each other, and she felt Amy's other hand run up her back...

Amy was beneath her, but she was driving the kiss, her lips demanding, pressing against hers, hungry, needy, not pulling back even the slightest bit. Faith let her take charge, her eyes closing, yielding to Amy's teeth nibbling lightly on her lips... moaning into Amy's mouth, her own burning need starting to rise, Faith let Amy's tongue enter her mouth... her lungs weren't getting enough air even as she breathed in through her nose, but Faith couldn't bring herself to care. She couldn't care about anything else but how amazing the kiss was, how much she wanted it to keep going -

Without warning, without even realizing it was happening until it was too late, Amy wrapped her legs around Faith and flipped her over, suddenly on top. Sitting up, straddling Faith's waist, Amy smirked and Faith's chest clenched as she realized what that had just been. A distraction.

A fucking distraction and Faith had fallen for it like some horny teenager with a crush. That realization gave her a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach that she couldn't place, but she didn't have time to worry about that right now.

Amy's eyes fell onto the rope still in Faith's hand, and Faith watched Amy's face twist up into an ugly, furious snarl. "You were going to tie me up. Right after I told you not to. Let's see how you like being restrained, bitch!" Amy held out her hands and pointed them at Faith's. Her arms snapped back against the headboard and were suddenly immobile, as if she was wearing cuffs. Faith tried to struggle, but all she got was a burning pain in her wrists. She couldn't move her arms... but she could move her legs. Amy hadn't gotten to that yet. Of course with Amy straddling her...

"That should hold you for a little while. Long enough so I can do what I need to do." Amy started to get up, then cried out in pain again, falling off the bed and landing in a heap on the floor next to it, letting out another wail like she had just minutes before. Whatever brief spell of mobility she'd had, she was losing it again, unable to move, whimpering again. Unfortunately, Faith couldn't move her arms, so she was still stuck to the bed, and struggling was still burning her wrists. Like rope burn or something, but whatever was holding her was a lot stronger than just rope.

_That's fucking magic for you._

"Please, Faith. Make it stop. Make it stop..." Amy begged, starting to actually cry. Faith hated herself for it, but  she couldn't help but worry that it was just Amy trying to play her, rather than the pain being so severe. "Make it stop. Let me make it stop!" The sobs racking through her just cut Faith more, despite what had happened seconds before. But she couldn't let her guard down. All it would take is for Amy's addiction to power through the pain again and she could be a danger once more.

Biting her lip until it bled as she struggled against the invisible, magical restraints around her. She was making no progress though... just hurting herself more. She angled her head a little and got a good look at her wrists - they were starting to get raw, even a little bloodied.

"Amy, look, just let me out of these and I'll help you. I promise," Faith started. She wasn't lying. She would help Amy, but helping her wouldn't mean taking her to Rack. Amy didn't say anything for a long moment, still whimpering and crying in pain, trying to pull herself up into a crawling position, muttering something Faith couldn't catch, even with her improved Slayer hearing.

"Amy! Amy!" Faith said again as the witch managed to get onto all fours and was trying to stand. "Don't go. You - Amy, fuck, just don't, alright! You don't want to go. You don't want to go back to Rack. You know what he's gonna make you do. You know how it makes you feel," Faith felt like a fraud, trying to appeal to some sort of better fucking nature. No. She _was_ a fraud - she had no idea what the hell she was doing here, how the hell she was supposed to help anyone.

_But I have to try._

"Faith, I have... to... I can't do it. I can't... I need..." Amy was almost on her feet, one arm on the foot of the bed and the other wrapped around her stomach. "Please... I don't want to hurt you..." Again, Faith hated that she couldn't be sure... just moments before, Amy had been raging at her, calling her a 'fake friend' and cursing her attempts to help and care.

But as long as she was strapped down to the bed by whatever spell Amy had used on her, words were all she had.

Not thinking before she spoke had kind of worked last time... maybe it was time to try that again? It was the only idea she had.

"Amy, you told me what it felt like, to live with doing what Rack makes you do. You wanted to die. You hated everything that was happening to you that you wanted to become vamp food. You were living in hell. You don't want to stay there." Faith stopped struggling, stopped trying to escape the magical bindings holding her in place.

"Your life was out of control. Nothing made sense, all you had was pain and you just kept digging because you didn't know any other fucking way. I told you - I've been there. I've been where you are. When the the pain is so much that you'll do anything to numb it, to make it go away, even when that means doing more of the same. You may not care right now, but you'll go back to hating yourself again. You'll want to die again.

"I'm here for you, to help you. Maybe you're right. Maybe _you_ can't do it. But _we_ can. Let me help you. Please, Amy, you have a chance now. You have a chance to..." Faith's voice broke for a moment, blinking back unwelcome, heartfelt tears. "Amy... please... you're where I was... when I crossed the line and was so desperate to make it all stop..." Faith thought back to how she'd felt, what she'd been thinking when she'd signed on with the Mayor, when she'd decided that the best option for her to was to join the bad guys, to do what they did. To kill to get herself out of the hell she'd pushed herself into through her own mistakes, her own actions. The Deputy Mayor's death had been an accident, but it had been her fault all the same.

Buffy and Angel--and even Xander,in his own completely hopeless way--had tried to give her a chance, tried to help her, and she'd rejected every attempt, every offer of help. Up until the very end, she'd gone back to doing the same things over and over and over again, desperately trying to just use more pain and self-loathing to find some way to... something -- some meaning or purpose or logic. She didn’t know - she'd lost track of what it was she really wanted, except for some way to make sense of herself, her own life.

"You're where I was. Take the help now, before you go too far. Before you risk... I don't even know. Please, Amy, let me help you. Don't do the same thing I did. Don't go back to Rack. Fight it. Let me help you fight it."  

If there was no hope for Amy, there was no hope for Faith. But if she could help Amy, save her from losing what she still had of herself, then maybe there was something to her. Something she could hold on to other than the massive, choking pile of guilt that still ate at her gut. That maybe something she touched wouldn't turn to shit. That maybe she wasn't Faith Lehane, Destroyer of All She Held Dear.

Almost everything and everyone else in her life, she'd fucked it up--her friendship with Buffy; her friendship, tentative and weak as it was, with Buffy's friends. Her Watcher/Slayer relationship with Giles. What little there had been of a Watcher/Slayer relationship with Wesley. She'd fucked up working for the Mayor, she'd fucked up being evil. She'd fucked everything up in her life. Maybe there was a chance she could have some sort of Watcher/Slayer thing with Wes now, yes, but that... that wasn't the same. That was because they needed each other--she needed his expertise, and he needed her as a way to find a purpose in life again after failing Angel.

But Amy -- Faith... connected with her. Understood her. Wanted to be friends with her. Wanted to help her... had felt pain and concern for her since practically the moment she met the other woman.

There was a chance she could build something that could last. For once in her life.

"Amy... if you can't do it for you... do it for me, please. _Let me_ help you. Give me the chance to do something right for a change, before it’s too late. Let me do something good and right and let it last." It was all she had left. The last reserve she had to use to try and convince Amy to let her go, let her stop her from going to Rack.

For a moment, as Amy finally managed to take a step away from the bed, standing straight up without support, Faith's throat clenched, her chest tight, her stomach twisting up in horrible knots of guilt and failure... _I... I couldn't do it...I couldn't-_

And then the restraints were off of her wrists, her hands free. Amy staggered, nearly fell again, but Faith was there to catch her. Faith wrapped her arms around Amy's midsection, holding her up, helping her stand. Faith felt the witch's arms go around her back and then her hands were on her shoulders, holding on for dear life, her grip almost tight enough to hurt.

Amy might have been taller than her, but it didn't seem it as the witch buried her face into Faith's right shoulder, sobs starting to wrack through her, sobs of pain and anger and rage and self-loathing. Sobs that were all too familiar to Faith. "Please... help me Save me... Faith... don't let me..." She was crying and drenching Faith's shirt, but the Slayer couldn't care about that right now. All she had to do was be there. To help her.

"I won't. I told you I wouldn't. I'm fucking keeping that promise." But she couldn't be sure that Amy wouldn't flip again. This was why she needed help. This wasn't about Amy's own resolve. If it was... Amy wouldn't be in this fucking hell. This was about doing what needed to be done for her. It wasn't Amy's fault that she was trying to get back to Rack. It was her fault that she'd started down this road, yeah, and early on she could have stopped it herself. If she'd just been willing. But she hadn't.

Faith knew that Amy had long since reached the point where Amy didn't have what it took to do this herself, and that just was what it was. It couldn't be undone alone. But Amy wasn't facing it alone now. She'd given up her control, but Faith was going to help her get it back. And Amy had reached out again.

_I just have to make sure she keeps reaching out. That's all she has to do._

Faith knew she was going to be there to be there for Amy, every time. As long as Amy was willing, Faith was willing to help her.

Amy didn't say anything for a long moment, but slowly stopped crying, probably having nothing left to let out.

There was one surefire way to make sure Amy didn't go back to Rack until they were out of town. Apart from keeping a firm grip on Amy to make she couldn't go anywhere...

"I'm sorry Amy," Faith said quickly, then reached up with one hand and hit Amy on the back of the head, hard enough to knock her out and give her a nasty bump in the process. She made sure Amy didn't hit the ground and carried the witch back to the bed, getting the pillows under her head just right.

Looking down at the rope that had landed on the floor again, Faith bit her lip and then... tied it around Amy's hands, then tied the other end to the bed. _Here's hoping she doesn't wake up before she's untied..._

Faith looked down at unconscious, still shivering (just a little bit) woman on the bed in front of her. The slight shivering aside, she almost looked... peaceful. It was a look that suited Amy well. Idly, Faith reached down and brushed a stray hair of out Amy's face.

 _I'm gonna help her. Even if she did fucking kiss me to distract me._ It had worked out pretty damn well though... the kiss, _and_ the distraction.

Faith turned away from the bed, trying to get the feeling of that kiss out of her mind.

**May 6th, 2002**

**Wesley's Car, Sunnydale**

Wesley looked back at the still unconscious Miss Madison in the backseat of the car. They were almost out of  

Sunnydale, and the more distance they had put between this town and the witch by the time she woke up, the better.

All things considered, Faith probably made the best possible choice when it came to knocking Amy out. But he could also tell, written across the Slayer's face as she sat in the backseat, that Faith felt guilty about it.

"Wes, please, tell me you know some sort of solution... something that can help her. You didn't see her... she was hurting so bad..." Faith trailed off, looking out the window instead of speaking more.

Wesley let out a long breath. "There is a spell that might be able to help her, but we can't cast it yet. It needs to be cast at noon, when the sun is at its highest point in the sky. It will... for lack of a better way of putting it, shut down her pain receptors. She'll still be in pain, but as long as the spell is active, she won't feel it. I can't do anything about the rest of it though. And casting that spell on her too much..." Wesley shook his head, "I meant what I said. There's no magicking her way out of this problem. Even if someone else casts the spells."

"That's why I'm here to help her," Faith said, "I made her a promise, and I'm gonna keep it." Faith looked him in the eye via the rear-view mirror. "And thank you... for helping me help her."

"You're welcome Faith," Wesley said. "Like you, I can understand her situation... albeit not as well as you likely can." He watched Faith look down at the floor, biting her lip, and Wesley held up a hand. "I wasn't attempting to denigrate you, Faith. Our experiences are simply different." Speaking with Faith was something of a minefield, and he couldn't help but be a little exasperated by that fact. It was horridly unfair to Faith, he knew, but being fair to the woman wasn't always the top of his priorities.

He was doing his best, but simply embracing Faith as his Slayer was not going to be easy. But he knew how to repress and pretend. Faith didn't need to know that he was still instinctively wary of her. He did believe that she'd changed, that she was genuine in her desire to do better. And honestly, Wesley was quite sure that the odds of her backsliding into what she'd been were low.

But that was an intellectual thing. Emotionally, instinctively... well, Wesley still had some scars from that night. Along with others he'd acquired since. Including the most recent one on his neck. Unconsciously, he reached up one hand and traced a line along it. The scar was still quite visible on his throat, thought it was starting to be less of an angry red, as it were.

But walking on eggshells around Faith, trying to avoid upsetting her... he knew why he needed to do it. The last thing Faith needed was more reminders, more reasons to hate herself. She had that covered on her own, just as he did for himself. But still, it was... exhausting. Just a little bit.

"I know, I know. It's not your fault Wes. Just..." Faith trailed off again. "I've got nothing. I don't know how to help her apart from just... forcing her to not go to Rack."

"It's a start, Faith, but from what you said, you managed to get through to her enough for her to release you from those bindings. Speaking of, how is the poultice?" When he'd seen the raw and slightly bloodied state of her wrists, Wesley had retrieved a bit of the healing poultice he kept on hand - a mixture of just the right herbs and a little bit of magic to accelerate healing - and let Faith apply it to herself. It wouldn't simply cure all injuries, the way some sort of healing spell (which was far beyond him) could. But it at least shorten the process.

"It's working, I think." Faith said slowly. "So... what's the plan exactly?"

"We make as quick a time to San Francisco as possible. The sooner we get her help... the better. I couldn't find anything on the drug Rack gives her - the unique combination of features she gave me - but drugs like his are not uncommon. They are... powerful. Withdrawal from them is difficult at best, especially after prolonged use." There were reports of those who tried dying, from the after effects, if they went too long. He didn't think that was likely to happen with Miss Madison - it didn't seem to fit with the MO of this 'Rack' to make his drug work like that, but...

Either way, that was information neither Faith nor Amy needed.

"We'll drive as far as we can today. stop somewhere for the night and then get to San Francisco tomorrow, barring anything unforeseen." Wesley went on.

"And then hope that these 'Charmed Ones' really can help her," Faith shook her head, "Or that this 'Whitelighter' can."

"It is the best hope she has," Wesley said quietly. "That violent mood swing when she restrained you... that's all that dark magic at work. Like I said, it... distorts her sense of reality. If not for all the dark magic clinging to her aura, she wouldn't have been able to... power through her pain to do all that, as it were." Wesley was operating at the outer edge of his knowledge, in all honesty. But it made the most sense of the various explanations available to him.

"Alright," Faith said. They were silent for some time as they got onto the highway, moving north. Wesley was about to put in one of the CDs he had - a gift from Cordelia last year, when he'd mentioned in passing that he liked pre-20th century composers as his main source of music. She'd gone and bought him several - Bach, Beethoven, Hyden, and so forth - when Faith finally spoke again.

"If we're gonna be in San Francisco for a while, for Amy... I may as well get my Slay on there. What's... what's the deal there? Do you know much?"

"San Francisco doesn't have a very high vampire population, all things said and done," Wesley explained. "Per capita, less than Los Angeles - and certainly less than Sunnydale. And as for its demons... well, I'm sure there are some traditional demons there, but more likely you'll encounter demons of a different sort."

Faith raised an eyebrow. "Traditional demons? What, like horns, pitchfork and a pointy tail?"

"Whether or not there's a single demon that is the origin of 'Lucifer' - or Satan or the Devil, whatever you want to call him - is a hotly debated subject in the Council," Wesley said quickly. It was one of the few hotly contested debates he'd never been willing to touch. Whereas he had written over a hundred pages on the question of whether or not vampires counted as a species of demon or not. He'd argued for 'no.

He'd been fresh out of the Academy and a great deal more arrogant then. And had the time for petty, pointless arguments centering on obscure and otherwise irrelevant distinctions.

"But that's not what I meant, regardless," Wesley added. "The demons you've faced, the demons most common, are many and varied, but they can trace themselves back, to one degree or another, to the Old Ones and the end of the Primordium Age. But there's a very different category of demons, one that Slayers are ill-equipped to fight. Slayer senses usually can't pick them up and they usually look human or are otherwise masters at masking themselves to be human."

"But what the fuck makes them different? And why would they be in San Francisco and not Sunnydale and L.A."

"I'm sure there were _some_ in Los Angeles, but they wouldn't have attracted our attention. It's complicated. I only know the basics of this class of demon - they aren't organized into species, generally, and they all stem from one Old One, separate from all other demons. They're also as a group younger, than other demonic species, only about 10,000 years old, broadly speaking. Their focus is on eliminating magic use from humanity. San Francisco has a high number of witches and other spellcasters, not to mention, apparently, the Charmed Ones." Wesley let out a long breath.

"They use a lot of magic themselves, and they tend to only be defeatable by magic. Sometimes very specific magic," Wesley concluded.

"Great," Faith scoffed. "So I'll be useless there." Wesley could pick up on the bitterness in her tone with ease. Not that she was making a great effort to hide it.

"Just because you can't kill them doesn't mean you won't be able to fight them off," Wesley offered. "And whatever else... Miss Madison is going to need you. The Whitelighter may be able to cleanse her aura, or at least help with it, but that can't replace the fact that you were the one to get through to her, multiple times. She'll need you."

Wesley watched Faith look over at Amy, a soft and small smile slowly forming on her face as she did so. "I... yeah. I guess." Not only wouldn't Amy need her, but Faith would need Amy. He didn't quite grasp how Faith had latched onto the cause of helping the witch so quickly and so firmly, but she had. That was good. For her, for him, for Miss Madison.

"Besides, like attracts like, mystically speaking. You - all Slayers - exist as a countermeasure to the more traditional demons and vampires. Simply living in San Francisco will draw them to you you... I doubt you'll lack for things to do." Wesley turned his attention fully back to the road and drove on in silence. Faith didn't say anything either.

**May 6th, 2002**

**Rest Stop, Somewhere Between Sunnydale and San Francisco**

When Amy woke up in the moving car, the first thing she felt was pain. As was the second and third thing. Really, it was just pain. She didn't really notice the cold, or the nausea (which was made worse by having nothing in her stomach to throw up) that she was still feeling, except as a sort of distant afterthought.

She did feel the need, the hunger, the _gnawing desperation._ She wanted another hit, and not just because it would end the pain. She wanted a hit because she wanted a hit. She wanted to bliss out and not have to think about what she'd just done to Faith. What little mental processing power she had that wasn't focused on her pain was stuck in a loop on what she'd done to Faith. The woman was the only person to ever be willing to help her since she'd started down this road and Amy had nearly ruined it.

The thought only made her more nauseous. She could only thank God that Faith was...

That Faith was an amazing person, still willing to help her.

But despite that, she couldn't help the fact that when she woke up, she was immediately trying to escape, to get Wesley to turn his car again, to get another hit. With her hands bound tightly together, she didn't have the range of motion to cast a lot of spells...

The binding of her hands... Amy tried not to thinking about all the things it reminded her of... Faith did it so she couldn't hurt them... so she couldn't hurt herself by going back to Rack.

"It's almost noon," Faith said softly, her eyes on the car clock. Faith's hand was holding one of hers, the Slayer running her thumb across the back of said hand.  Amy couldn't do anything more than whimper - she'd already bit her lip through to blood, and it was only by the grace of God that she hadn't bit through her tongue. Somehow, the pain was worse than she ever remembered it being. The gnawing, hungry need consuming her was worse too. As if the drug leftover in her system knew she was trying to kick the habit completely. Knew that she was out of Sunnydale. If that was even possible. Amy had no idea how Rack's drug actually worked. Before she'd started using it, she hadn't cared enough to know...

And after...

She hadn't _wanted to._

Amy closed her eyes, hearing Faith murmur quiet words of support - they were platitudes that Amy wouldn't have listened to from anyone else, but from Faith...

 _I kissed her..._ It had been amazing. She tried to hold onto that feeling, but feeling that came with a lot of guilt, more self-loathing... because the kiss had been fake. She'd been so desperate for another hit, for the easy way out, that she'd just... used Faith like that.

_And Faith responded, which means she liked it too..._

Any momentary elation that thought had first given her was ruined when she realized that meant she'd probably ruined any possibilities with Faith down the line.

 _Why is this even entering my mind!?!_ There was something about Faith... and...

The rap of Wesley's knuckles on the window drew her attention, and Faith opened the door.

"Bring her outside. Keep her on her feet. She needs to be in full sunlight for this to work." Amy didn't know of any spell to deaden her pain - and she'd tried several over the months - but she would take any chance she could get. If she could just... the pain was the worst part... the need... with Faith's help, she could... handle that.

She hoped. But this pain...

There were no words for it. Amy closed her eyes again, taking in a series of short, sharp breaths as Faith unbuckled her from her seat and carried her out of the car like she was a child... when her feet touched asphalt she nearly fell over, only held up by Faith's arm gripping her tightly around her waist.

Wesley unscrewed the cap off a bottle of water and handed it to Faith. "You need water, Miss Madison. Help her with that, Faith."

Hating how helpless it made her feel, Amy let Faith bring the bottle up to her lips, a some of the water spilling onto her shirt in the process. She swallowed slowly... she wanted more, realized how thirsty she was, but she also knew she couldn't drink it all in one go...

It hurt just to have the water going down her throat, but she couldn't care about that. After she'd had several sips, Faith pulled the bottle back and Wesley approached her, holding an unusually large rose quartz in one hand, holding it up to catch the light of the sun. He started to chant something in what sounded like Aramaic - she didn't know the language, be she recognized a few of the sounds - and kept tilting the quartz to catch different bits of light, shining the light onto her, into her face - Amy closed her eyes to stop from going blind, but the brightness was still bleeding through her eyelids.

After a minute of chanting, Amy suddenly felt all of her pain... gone. There was no more pain...

There was still nausea, she was still cold - though not freezing just right now - and that gnawing hunger was screaming even louder in her head now that wasn't competing for space.

"How are you feeling?" Wesley asked carefully.

"... I don't hurt..." Amy answered quietly, opening her eyes. "How...?" _You can focus now! You can use your magic! Go back! Go back!_ She was... hollow, inside. A familiar feeling. Amy leaned into Faith a little, hoping even more contact with her could help keep the worst of it at bay.

Somehow.

"I shut off your brain's ability to process pain, essentially." Wesley explained. "I wasn't sure it would work, but apparently. I'd say pinch yourself to make sure it works, but..." He gestured to her bound hands. "Faith?"

Amy watched Faith reach over with her free hand... she saw the pinch...

And felt nothing. At all. She could feel the pressure of Faith's arm around her waist, that comforting, reassuring pressure, but the pain from the pinch?

Nothing.


	8. Leo Wyatt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own Angel the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Charmed.
> 
> **Author's Note:** I have never written any of the Charmed characters, nor really read much in the way of Charmed fanfic, bar a handful of crossovers. So while I've done my best to rewatch Charmed and get a feel for the characters and their voices, let's be fair and say I may get them wrong. Please, please feel free to let me know if I get something wrong, characterization or Charmed-verse wise.
> 
> As a reminder, the story picks up, on the Charmed end of things very shortly after the end of Season 4 (Cole/the Source/etc has finally been defeated, they didn't take the Angel of Destiny's deal, etc). Season 5 has yet to start, yada, yada, yada. The timelines don't quite work, but close.
> 
> We're finally reaching San Fransisco!
> 
> Thanks to quor-toth on tumblr (Maria) and deiticlast for beta-reading.

Battered Souls

By Alkeni

Chapter 8: Leo Wyatt

**May 6** **th** **, 2002**

**Motel, San Jose, California**

"It's probably not a good idea to approach the Charmed Ones this late in the day," Wesley said when they stopped off in San Jose and at this cheap motel. "Rest the night and we'll go tomorrow." Then he looked over at Amy. "Miss Madison… is there anything I can get you? Do you think you'll be able to keep down-"

Amy shook her head, "No." Faith gently put a hand on Amy's back. The witch wasn't hurting anymore – Wesley's spell was still holding, but Faith could tell all that had done was just take one of many problems – even if it was a big fucking one – off the table. Amy was still dealing with all that fucking nausea and the cold and the basic addiction itself. Needing the next hit.

"You gotta eat, Amy," Faith told her.

"No," Amy said again, shaking her head. Then she put her hand on her stomach afterwards, grimacing. "I won't keep it down. Anything. Besides, I'm not hungry for food." Her voice was low, soft, weak. Afraid. It broke Faith's heart to hear her like this.

"Alright. Faith?" Wesley turned to her, and the Slayer bit her lip. She was hungry-very, actually, since she hadn't wanted to eat lunch in front of a conscious Amy, when the witch couldn't. Especially when the very smell of food might make things worse for her. As if reading her thoughts, Amy reached for her hand and took it, squeezing gently, a silent granting of approval.

"Yeah. Didn't I see a Burger King just down the street? Get me a couple whoppers? And a Chocolate milkshake?" Another plus side of being a Slayer – she could eat a hell of a lot and not gain weight.

Wesley looked at her carefully for a long moment, then nodded. "I'll fetch you your junk food." He handed her a roomkey. "In the meantime, you two are in Room 19." He went back into his car, and Faith turned to Amy, walking with her hand to the room and going inside. It only had the one bed, like the last one, but that was kind of going to be how it had to work.

"Sit," Faith directed Amy to the bed and the witch obeyed without complaint. Technically, Amy She didn't actually _look_ any different than she had two days ago, but at the same time, she somehow did. She looked... worse. The way she was sitting, the dark, distant, empty look inner eyes. She looked...

Lost. Right on the edge. It was a look Faith remembered seeing in the mirror, during that short time between waking up from her coma and her trip to prison. The only difference was that Amy was less angry than Faith had been. Right now, anyway. But that could change... a fact that didn't give Faith the warm fuzzies.

Faith unwrapped one of the paper cups next to the cheap coffee machine and filled it with water, walking back to the bed and giving it to Amy.

"How are you feeling?" Faith asked, sitting next to the witch.

"Not tired," Amy said, gesturing to the cheap digital clock-radio on the night stand. "And it's too early for bedtime anyway."

"Didn't figure you were going to be sleeping, now, Amy. There's a TV here, and while I'm sure they didn't spring for more than the basic cable, I'm sure we can find something to watch. Or... we can talk, or do nothing. It's all up to you. But I was asking more... generally." Faith gestured up and down Amy's body with one hand. "And drink your water. Slowly. You'll keep it down better that way." Faith had had enough hangovers in her pre-Slayer days to get an idea of how to handle nausea. The principle had to be the same whatever the reason for feeling sick, right?

Amy looked at the cup of water in her hand, but didn't drink it. Faith just gave her a look, feeling like an idiot (though she didn't let that show at all) until Amy finally brought the cup to her lips and took a small sip, setting it down on the bedside table. "Happy now?"

"Thrilled," Faith replied. "So... how are you-"

"How am I feeling? I'm freezing cold, and I have been all day and I'm not even shivering anymore because of that spell Wesley used on me-my body isn't reacting to being cold the way it's supposed to, or something. I want to throw up and I've got nothing to get rid of, but the odds are pretty good I'll lose any of the water I drink or start dry heaving or both, and let me tell you, that's a lot of fun!" Amy's voice was starting to increase to a fever pitch.

"And on top of all that, I've got this _hunger_ gnawing at me every second, hollowing me out and constantly keeping me me on edge because I need another hit. I feel empty inside and that's not going to change unless I get it, but all that will do is keep it at bay for another day. I can't help but think how easy it would be to just... magic you out of my way, steal a car with magic and then get back to Sunnydale and get to Rack. And I can't help but want to do that. It's all I can do to not!"

Amy's voice dropped from its near-shout, suddenly barely above a whisper. She looked down at her lap, her hands resting in it. "Because I know... I know however much I want another hit... I can't. Without any other way to pay... I know what he'll make me do. I can't survive more of than. I _can't_... I _still_ want to die before I do that again, but I know I won't be able to just... end it." Amy started to breath quickly, and Faith reached over for her hand. The last thing the witch needed to do was to start hyperventilating.

Okay, so it wasn't the _last_ thing-the list of things worse than that was probably pretty fucking long, but still, hyperventilating wasn't going to fucking help her, so that was what was important here.

"And the only way to get the money or... stuff he might want in trade..." Amy closed her eyes and shook her head. "I can't-It's bad enough, everything I've done to get food and have that shitty rat's nest of an apartment and... anything worse than that... I can't... especially if there really is all this dark magic on me... I can't be mom. I _won't_." Faith could tell Amy was trying to say that all firmly and like it was some magic declaration that would be so just because, but her voice was shaky and hesitant.

"But you're worried you will," Faith finished softly, squeezing Amy's hand.

"How can I _not be?_ All this dark magic... how easy it was to use my magic on you... I was so... _angry_ at you when I saw the rope... if I hadn't been so obsessed with getting another hit... I don't know what I would have done." Faith stiffened as Amy brought up the rope. She'd just been doing what Amy asked. What Amy had told her to do, if nothing else worked.

"You _told_ me to use the rope!" Faith shot at the witch, unable to stop herself from snapping.

"I know!" Amy snapped back, raising her voice, looking Faith directly in the eyes. "I knew it then too-I just didn't _care_! You don't understand what it felt like... what it still feels like."

"I killed, stole, and tortured my way into a hell of a lot, Amy," Faith pointed out. "No, I didn't have dark magic to be the reason why. Just shitty circumstances and even shittier choices I made." She remembered what it was like working for the Mayor. How easy it all was, to kill that volcanologist. How easy it had later been to torture Wes. How easy all the evil shit she'd done was to do, once she started doing it.

And reformed or not, there was a little part of Faith that already knew how easy it would be to run. She could get away from Wes, from Amy, and just go off on her own kick, stealing and even killing her way across the country. If she wanted to.

The idea was appealing, in a stupid 'I don't actually want to do it' way, but... but it was still an idea her brain was coming up with, which alone said plenty about how fucked up she still was, as far as Faith was concerned.

Still holding Amy's hand with her own, Faith reached across herself and put her other hand on the witch's thigh lightly. "You could have done more to fuck me up, hurt me, but you didn't. You could have gone to Rack's, but you didn't."

"Because of you-because you begged me to. For you," Amy said softly. "There's not... there's not enough left in me to do anything for myself. I remember it... I remember hearing what you were saying, what going back to Rack would do to me. I knew you were right, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't even care enough to try. Not when it hurt so much, when it felt like I was being hollowed up every second..." Amy bit her lip. "Still feels like that." Amy closed her empty hand into a fist, digging her nails into the base of her palm.

"I stopped because you made it about you-about something you did working for a change. About... doing something right and making it last. I did it because... you're the only person who's _helped_ me. The only person even remotely willing to give me a chance. I couldn't take this away from you. That's why I stopped. Only for you. Not for me."

"All it takes is a fuckin' reason, Amy," Faith replied firmly. "Whatever that reason..." She'd forced herself to stay in prison not just for herself-not just because she wanted to pay for her crimes-but because she didn't want to let Angel down. She didn't want to validate Buffy's (justified) disbelief in her.

When prison had gotten really bad, those first few months-the tedium, the shitty food, the forced introspection, the shrinks... what had kept her sticking around those early days was just that. Her need to do what Angel wanted her to do, what Angel had believed she could do. And do what Buffy didn't seem-at least then-to think she could do.

"There's still enough left of you to want to get clean, to ask me for help," Faith said. She squeezed Amy's hand, and let go as she heard Wesley approaching the door-she could tell it was him, from the way he walked, the sound his shoes made on the floor. And the smell of her Burger King, of course. She got up and opened the door, accepting the bag and the drink cup.

"Thanks Wes," Faith said. "So what's your plan for the night?"

"Nothing salacious," Wesley replied with a drawl.

"I didn't even hint that!" And really, much as Wes clearly needed to get laid, she hadn't. "If there's one guy in the world who both needs to get laid as bad as you do and is as unlikely to actually go out and get it done as you... well, I think his name is Angel." Faith smirked when Wesley gave a small, obviously unwilling smile in response to her words.

"Angel is rather unlikely to get anywhere with anyone, this is true. And that, of course, is quite for the best." Wesley shrugged. "Regardless, I'll be in the next room if either of you need me." He nodded and closed the door behind him. Faith set the food down on the little table against the wall. She looked over at Amy.

"You sure it's cool for me to eat in here?" She knew how the smell of food could sometimes make someone who was sick to their stomach feel worse. Especially greasy fast food. _Let's face it. This stuff may be fucking delicious, but technically it's kinda disgusting._ Faith hadn't _wanted_ to learn how, but when you had nothing to do in prison but read, sometimes you learned fun facts you didn't want to know.

"It's fine," Amy confirmed, sitting fully on the bed, stretching her legs out and resting her head against the headboard of the bed, closing her eyes. "I don't think the smell can make me feel any worse than I already do."

"Alright." Faith opened the bag and started eating. She really was starving, and she made quick work of the food-all three whoppers, the two large cartons of fries and the drink were consumed in rapid succession. Faith had been accused of inhaling her food before, and honestly, she didn't argue the point. Eating quick was a habit you picked up in the foster system and on the streets, and she'd had no real reason to break it since. Useful in prison too, even if people had stopped trying to mess with her after the first couple tries failed miserably.

Amy sat silently on the bed as Faith ate, her eyes closed, but Faith could tell she wasn't sleeping. She tossed her trash away and brushed her teeth, moving over onto the bed to sit next to Amy.

"You can watch the TV if you want," Amy said softly. "Maybe something funny? I'll take the distraction."

"Okay." Faith turned the TV on, searching for Comedy Central and finally getting it. It was usually funny. And sure enough, the comic they had this time was worth laughing at. Even Amy managed a few giggles.

**May 6th, 2002**

**Motel, San Jose, California**

Amy really wasn't 'distracted' by the comedy on TV, but at least it gave her something else to think about. Something other than everything else she was thinking about.

She was still freezing-and the only open for what could make her feel warm again was not really an open. Not after she'd done to Faith earlier this morning.

If skin-to-skin contact was the only way for her to warm up... well... the obvious solution was something like last night.

But she'd still woken up cold-her lower half, still parts of her torso. Intellectually, Amy had the perfect solution (and it was a _perfect_ idea in general, as far as Amy's libido was concerned): both she and Faith could strip down to just their underwear when it was time to sleep and Amy could press up against Faith like she had last night. Just like with people stuck in caves in blizzards and all that. It wasn't just for cliched fanfics.

Not only would it make her feel warm, which was the main point of the objective, but she would feel... safe.

She hadn't really registered it this morning: too busy with the pain, and the hunger and the desperation to get another hit... but those few seconds when she'd woken up, Faith's arms around her...

She'd felt something she hadn't really felt in... so fucking long.

Safe.

Amy didn't think she'd felt safe since... since before her mother had stolen her body. Up until then, she'd been scared of her mom at times, had... well, to call them 'mommy issues' would be an understatement. Distance had informed her just how bad her mom had really been even before the body switch.

But after that switch... that was the first time Amy had realized that she was actually afraid her mother could-would, might-actually kill her. She'd lost something precious then. And since that moment, she hadn't felt safe since.

Everything she'd done since then, in so many ways... especially anything involving magic...

Amy had been desperately trying to feel safe. To _be_ safe. And for the first time, she'd had it in those few seconds.

_And I'm never going to get that again. Not from her._

The way she'd used a kiss to distract Faith like that, holding her down with magic... there wasn't anything sexual about wanting to strip down and have Faith hold her, not really. What part of her mind had the energy and presence of thought to even think in that sense was far too small to have a strong purchase on what she did and why she did it. Though that small part of her _really_ did like the idea of pressing up against Faith, for all the obvious reasons.

But the act was... well, _getting nearly naked and pressing against someone else who is nearly naked..._ it wasn't hard for that small part of her mind to pick up on a sexual component to that. And...

Amy spent most of the next few hours paying quarter-attention to the TV and trying to cope with everything. She'd gone to the closet, gotten the extra blankets and wrapped them around herself, to no avail. She'd waved off Faith's offer to help.

Her brain felt tired, her body felt exhausted... but she didn't think she could sleep.

"We should probably sleep," Faith said softly. "Or at least start at it." She turned the TV off, halfway through an episode of some crime drama or another.

"I'll try," Amy said, wrapping the blanket tighter around herself. Then, blinking, she slowly readjusted in the bed, lying down on her side, biting her lip.

The hunger had been getting increasingly worse as the night had progressed. The need... she felt it aching, burning, like lightbulb right behind her eyes. She'd never felt quite it like this-the pain had always been enough to drive her to Rack's before the need got this bad. But now without the pain, she could appreciate the insidiousness.

She was hungry, but nothing she thought of sounded appetizing. She was thirsty, but even water felt... wrong. She craved and craved and craved. Her body was crying out for another hit. She couldn't focus on anything but the need for longer than a few minutes-any prolonged thoughts were a scattered mess, interspersed with this... gnawing emptiness asserting herself.

She couldn't put it in words. It was like...

Like there was something inside of her, scooping out her insides, but in a... non-life threatening sort of way. She could only use the words 'empty' and 'hollow' to describe the sensation. But...

"Amy, no," Faith said softly. "I'm not letting you freeze tonight. I _can_ help you with that much, at least. What we did last night worked, right? You felt warmer."

Amy flinched. Faith couldn't be suggesting-Faith wouldn't. She was just... she felt obligated...

"You should just... tie me up now, while I don't want to stop you," Amy said softly, her throat clenching, her gut churning even more at the very idea of being tied down.

"No." Faith shook her head. "I don't need to do it. I didn't need to tie you this morning, and I won't this time or tomorrow. I got through to you. I can do it again."

Amy swallowed. She wanted to protest, wanted to tell Faith that she had to do it. But... she also didn't want to be restrained. The idea repulsed her-after everything those two 'friends' of Rack had done to her when she was tied down, when they'd used her time and again, and she'd let them because that was the only way to get her next hit.

She could only be thankful they hadn't done anything that left a permanent mark. But she didn't really feel thankful. They had been... almost the worst, of all the people and things Rack had forced her to have sex with. Only a few of the... _things_ had beaten that sick couple, in terms of how filthy and disgusting and degraded she'd felt when they were done.

"I won't tie you." Amy watched Faith bit her lip as she paused, "I... I had a thought. About how I helped you warm up last night. Skin-to-skin contact and all that." Amy's throat clenched as she realized that Faith was suggesting the very thing she'd thought of earlier. Faith flushed just a little bit as she went on: "I was thinking though... more skin-to-skin contact would do better. Make you warmer, I mean. If we strip down to just bra and panties and..." Faith laughed a little, and Amy could pick up in the self-deprecation. "Fuckin' cuddle, I guess, would be the best word for it." Her flush was gone. "I know it'll be weird-but like I said last night, I'm not coming onto you. I just... I wanna help you."

Amy's chest felt tight as Faith said that. Of course Faith wasn't coming onto her. It was just rational and a good idea... and why would Faith even _want_ to come onto her? Especially after...

Amy wanted to say no. She didn't deserve the help.

But then... she didn't deserve _any_ of this help. But Faith wanted to help her. And Amy... Amy wanted the help. She wanted- _needed-_ to get better. Anything else would kill her, one way or the other. And... she was so cold. Freezing. Like everything else, it left her just on the edge of being unable to function. The pain had been worse-would be worse-and the gnawing hunger was worse, but...

"Alright," Amy said softly, hearing her own voice be a lot firmer than she'd intended. "Thank you," she added. Slowly, she got up, stripping down to her underwear, and behind her, she heard Faith do the same. Under any other circumstances, maybe Amy would have snuck a peak, but this time... there was just no doing that. When she was done, she got back into the bed, resting on her side. Moments later, she felt Faith get into the bed as well-the mattress shook a little as the Slayer moved her pillows into position, and then Amy felt Faith's arms go around her torso, holding her against her own body.

Amy couldn't help it-she felt... better. Just a little bit, with Faith there, holding her. Safe, like she had this morning. With Faith's arms around her...

She could almost pretend that everything would be alright someday.

Almost.

"Thank you," she murmured again. "For everything." There was nothing she'd be able to do to pay this back. She was doing this, sticking with this for Faith as much as for herself... and even that wouldn't be enough.

_If I make it out of this... god, I'll owe-I already owe-Faith everything._ Amy would spend the rest of her life paying the Slayer back, if that's what it took.

**May 7th, 2002**

**Motel, San Jose, California**

This time, Faith woke up before Amy.

Faith felt chilly-probably less than she would have, if she hadn't made sure to put the extra blanket on, though.

But what was important was that Amy felt warm. Not boiling hot, not radiating any heat or anything, but actually warm. Which had been the whole point of the thing. And that was why Faith felt a small smile forming on her face, why she felt a bit of happiness swelling in her. Because she'd been able to help Amy, even if just a little.

_Not_ the fact that lying there with Amy's almost naked body against hers felt... so _right._ So natural and normal and...

No. Nothing to do with that.

Faith didn't move, though. Sooner or later, Amy was gonna wake up. And Wes had warned her that it was possible his spell would have worn off by the time she woke up, and since it could only be cast at noon...

Well, that could cause some problems for everyone. If Amy was hurting again like yesterday and started going for another hit to make the pain go away... or just to make that hunger she talked about go away...

Well, then there could be a repeat of yesterday morning. Faith wasn't going to let that happen, if she could manage it. If she could keep Amy... still, hold her in place. It could give her enough time to talk Amy down again.

That was her hope, anyway.

As the sun rose further in the sky and glared into the hotel room even more, Faith felt Amy stir in her arms. The first sign that Amy was awake was the sound of a pained whimper coming from the witch, a sound that had Faith's heart breaking all over again.

Amy didn't speak for the first few minutes after she woke up-just more whimpers of pain, the witch trying to shift position, as if she relieve the pain just by readjusting herself. It didn't work, judging from the shuddering and wincing and whimpering, even crying.

Faith's throat felt tight. She wanted... she wanted to calm Amy down, soothe her. But she didn't know a single fuckin' trick for that.

During her 'good' days or even those rare 'good' weeks, one of the things that Rebecca Lehane had done for Faith, when she was upset or sad or hurt-scraped her knee or whatever-was brush her hair. Just the act of feeling the brush go through her hair had always been... well, it had calmed her down, just a little bit. It didn't work out anywhere near as well when she brushed her own hair, but maybe...

Maybe something like that could work for Amy? She didn't really have any other ideas, to be honest.

"It'll be alright Amy. Stay with me," Faith said in a low, soft murmur. She kept one arm wrapped firmly around Amy's middle, holding the witch against her body, and reached up with her other arm, stroking her hair, running her fingers through it lightly, repeating the motion over and over.

"I'm here. You can do this." For a few minutes, Amy was silent, but then she spoke, her voice weak at first.

"No. I _can't_ ," Amy started to struggle against Faith's grip, but Faith held her in place regardless.

"You can. And I'm here to help," Faith didn't stop stroking Amy's hair. It was all she could think of doing to help the witch directly.

"I can't. I won't," Amy started, her voice shifting in a low, angry growl. "And you can't make me."

"Pretty sure I can, Amy." Faith countered, tightening her arm around Amy even more, grabbing Amy's wrist with her hand as she did so. Any tighter around the chick's middle, and she'd break a fuckin' rib or two, so right now she was about as far as she could go with that.

Hopefully it would be enough though.

"Let me go," Amy said through gritted teeth, enunciating each word angrily.

"Can't do that, Amy," Faith replied. "It's just gonna go down like it did yesterday. Stay with me. Focus on now. You don't... you don't want another hit."

"It's never been about _want_ , Faith. It's _need._ And right now, you _need_ to **let me go** , or I _will_ hurt you," she repeated insistently.

"Do what you wanna do. I'm not going to just let you head back to Sunnydale, to that drug-dealing bastard without a fight."

"We can make it a fight," Amy agreed darkly. She stopped trying to break free from Faith's grip and simply turned over, still otherwise in place. Now eye to eye with the Slayer, Amy shifted her free hand and pressed it to Faith's shoulder, chanting something-

Faith let go of Amy's other wrist to rip the hand off her shoulder, but all that did was free up that hand to grab at her. Before Faith could try to grab both hands or something, Amy finished her little chant in some crazy-ass language she didn't recognize. Faith's forearm started burning-right where Amy's hand was, like it was some fucking match or candle or one of those things they burned a cow's ass with or whatever.

Faith started to bite her lip, ready to keep biting until she bled.

"Amy-stop it." Her demand was ruined by her speaking through her teeth digging into her lower lip, but the burning sensation was only getting worse. Her whole arm was starting to feel like it was on fire.

"Let me go!" Amy tried to struggle against Faith's grip again, but Faith wasn't loosening it, even now. Then, suddenly, Amy's expression changed completely, her sneer turning into a smirk. Amy started to lean in towards her-but Faith wasn't letting that trick happen a second time. She pulled back just a little bit, causing Amy to miss her lips-but that wasn't stopping the witch from her plan, apparently, as her lips connected with Faith's neck-for about two seconds, Amy was actually kissing her neck, and then...

Faith couldn't hold back anymore-she hadn't bit through her lip, hadn't tasted blood, but the burning on her arm was just too much. It wasn't a scream, not even close, but the grunt of pain was obvious for what it was.

_Fuckin' went soft in prison!_ There was a time when even this much pain wouldn't have gotten a reaction out of her.

But that reaction was apparently what it took to get Amy to pull back, remove her hand-as suddenly as it had started, the burning was gone from her arm, leaving just a dull ache she could deal with later.

Amy burst into tears.

"Oh god...Faith... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to-but I did mean-I..." Amy's words came out in an incoherent jumble, broken by sobs. Faith, ignoring her pain, put her aching arm around Amy's shoulders and started to stroke the witch's hair again, gently, lightly.

Amy, for her part, kept crying, apologizing over and over again.

**May 7th, 2002**

**1329 Prescott Street, Los Angeles**

It had been a good idea, Wesley had to concede, to wait until after noon for this. To wait until Amy was at least relieved of the pain. Seeing the wreck she was when she was experiencing that pain while awake had been enough to convince him of that.

Even with the spell numbing her again, Amy still looked a wreck. This time, he could actually see a physical change in the girl-her skin was unusually pale, and she was covered in a cold sweat and just...

Well, she looked sick. Just had that visible air about her. The way she walked so carefully, the way she had her arms wrapped around her midsection, the way she shrank in on herself in every sense.

He didn't feel the same _need_ to help her that Faith had, but it was impossible to not want to help this woman, seeing her like this. Wesley still had held onto a small ember of his sense of compassion, even after his friends abandoned him, even after Lilah had seemed to prove to be the only human contact he was likely to have.

And right now, Amy Madison deserved his compassion.

He turned back to the house in front of him. Tracking down the Charmed ones was in theory just a matter of finding three sisters with the surname 'Halliwell'. But in practice, while the name Halliwell wasn't exactly common, there was more than one residence with that name. But this one seemed to be the most promising, from what he could tell. It was old enough of a structure, and large enough to be the likely location, anyway.

If this _was_ the wrong house, he'd simply apologize and move on.

Faith and Amy walking behind him, Wesley approached the front door and rang the doorbell. After a minute, a woman with long, straight dark hair answered.

"Can I help you?" She looked from him to the two women standing behind him. He'd contemplated wearing a turtleneck to cover the scar on his neck, but the heat had made him decide against it. So between that obvious scar and the his somewhat unkempt appearance (he hadn't shaved in the last several days, for example), he didn't make for a very comforting, normal appearance. Add in Faith and Amy, and he supposed the three of them could be a little disconcerting, at least in how out of place they were in a pleasant little neighborhood like this one.

"Hopefully," Wesley said. "This may sound somewhat strange if I have the wrong address, Mrs. Halliwell," if this was one of the Charmed Ones, he suspected she'd keep her last name, despite the wedding ring on her finger-"but this young woman," he gestured to Amy, "needs your help. Or rather, the help of your Whitelighter."

The woman looked at him blankly for a moment, and Wesley was left wondering if they did in fact have the wrong address, and then the woman half turned in the doorway and shouted, "Leo!" She sounded almost... exasperated.

Wesley would have expected a Whitelighter to appear in a flash of bright light or something, but all that happened was a handsome, if completely normal looking man came into view from somewhere else in the house.

"What's the problem, Piper-?" The man started to ask, and then, as he reached the doorway and got a look at Amy, his eyes widened a little and he put an arm in front of the woman. Piper, he was guessing. The man had a ring on his finger as well, suggesting that these two were married-Tara had mentioned there was a rumor one of the Charmed Ones had married their Whitelighter.

"Leo?" the woman asked, now sounding a little concerned. "What's up?"

"I suspect he's just noticed all the dark magic clinging to Miss Madison's aura," Wesley suggested. Piper started to raise her hands, perhaps to cast some spell or another, but he went on hurriedly, "She's no threat to you. None of us are." He gestured to Faith. "This is Faith Lehane, the Slayer."

"The Slayer? Really. And why would the Slayer be with a dark witch?" The Whitelighter-he had to be-demanded, still suspicious.

"Amy's not evil!" Faith replied, her tone harsh, defensive. "She's-she's... she just needs help."

"Can someone fill me in? What's a Slayer?" Piper looked from Leo to Faith. "And should we be having this conversation out in the open like this?"

"Probably shouldn't," Amy said, weakly. Then she raised her voice a little, trying to speak more firmly, "You're one of the Charmed Ones-I'm good with magic, but if even half of what I've heard about you three is true, I'm not a threat to you."

"She makes a good point," Piper said, looking over at Leo. "And besides, she looks like a stiff breeze would knock her over." She finally turned to look at Amy. "I mean, when was the last time you ate something?" She stepped aside, gesturing toward the doorway. "If any of you try anything, your asses are getting vanquished. Just for the record." She looked at her husband once more. "Get Phoebe and Paige here. Somehow, I think we're not having a quiet summer."

"So much for getting time off after vanquishing the Source of All Evil," Piper muttered, after she invited the three of them to come in. Wesley, who was halfway through making a mental note to explain why the witch should probably refrain from verbal invitations, did a double-take.

"The Source? It's been vanquished? As in-permanently?" Was that even possible? To vanquish an Old One-that's what the Source was, at the end of the day-that... Old Ones were eternal, technically speaking. They... they didn't die. They couldn't

Right?


	9. The Charmed Ones - Piper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don’t own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series or Charmed
> 
> **Author's Note:** I have never written any of the Charmed characters, nor really read much in the way of Charmed fanfic, bar a handful of crossovers. So while I've done my best to re-watch Charmed and get a feel for the characters and their voices, let's be fair and say I may get them wrong. Please, please feel free to let me know if I get something wrong, characterization or Charmed-verse wise.
> 
> Thanks to Deiticlast and Maria/Whatever her Tumblr name is right now for beta-reading.

Battered Souls

By  Alkeni

Chapter 9: The Charmed Ones - Piper

**May 7th, 2002**

**1329 Prescott Street, San Francisco**

Once their three sudden and unexpected arrivals were inside, Piper closed the door behind them, turning to look at Leo, who was still standing there, looking dumbfounded at the ‘dark witch.’ No, wait--the other girl had called her Amy.

And the other girl was named Faith and was apparently the ‘Slayer.’ That didn’t sound like it might involve demons or magic at  _ all _ . Because that was just a title normal people carried around.

_ So much for a quiet summer, _ she thought for the second time in as many minutes.

“Alright, all three of you, into the living room.”  Piper made shooing motions at them until they complied. “ Sit, and let’s take this from the top.” She glared at each of them – the witch, the ‘Slayer,’ and the scruffy English guy until they were all seated on the couch.

“Okay, so, someone needs to fill me in on who you are, and why my husband seems so sure I shouldn’t have let you,” she began, pointing at Amy, “into the house. And what is a Slayer? You two,” she pointed to Leo and the Brit, “talked about it like it's a thing I should know about.”

“ A Slayer is a mystical warrior blessed with supernatural strength, speed and durability, chosen by the Powers That Be to fight vampires, demons and the forces of Darkness, ” the English guy explained.  “ If you have an iron bar or a crowbar or something along those lines, we could have Faith bend it into a pretzel to demonstrate, but for the moment you'll have to take our word on it. ”

Piper blinked--not so much at the idea of some chosen warrior that fought demons. Nothing particularly odd  there, when you got right down to it. But vampires?

“We killed all the vampires, when we killed their Queen...” Piper said, looking over at Leo. She distinctly remembered that, and the sight and sound of all the other vampires dying around them. “Months ago.”

“Lady, I don't know what you're on, but vamps are definitely not all dead. Fucking things are everywhere,” Faith cut in.

“Different kind of vampires,” Leo explained. “The Slayer fights... the original kind. The other ones that tried to turn Paige into one of them--they were created by the Source to copy the earlier version.”

Piper blinked. “And you've known about all this and haven't mentioned it? Seems like it would be a big deal that we  _ didn't _ kill all the vampires in the world.” Even as she said that, she could only imagine it had something to do with the Elders. They'd probably told him to not say anything.

“It was never relevant!” Leo protested. “They aren't very common in San Francisco or  the surrounding area , and you can't kill them with a vanquishing spell or the Power of Three. The Slayer and the... original vampires, are the purview of the Powers that Be.”

“And they are? This is new information to me, Leo.  You need to catch me up to speed.”

“I'd be interested in knowing this myself,” the Englishman commented.  “A  Whitelighter's perspective on the Slayer and the Powers would be... interesting-”

Faith cut in, “Yeah, yeah, that’s all kinds of fascinating nerd shit, but we're not here for that. We're here so you,” Faith pointed at her husband, “can help Amy, so get to it.”

“The Powers that Be are... on the side of good, but they and the Elders don't exactly... agree on how things should be done. They mostly just stay out of each  other's way,” Leo explained.

“And instead they get in  _ our _ way all the time. Because that's so much better,” Piper snarked, rolling her eyes. Then she turned back at their  visitors . “Okay, so, we've got a Slayer, a witch, and what exactly are you, apart from obviously being the designated adult?” Piper ignored the sputtering reaction from Faith. Yes, the girl was obviously an adult, but the British guy was equally obviously older than her and certainly looked like he thought he was in charge, if nothing else.. And the witch, Amy, didn't really react to her words. She was just sitting there, her arms wrapped around her stomach, rocking back and forth, looking pale.

_ And she obviously needs to eat something. _ Piper resisted the urge to put everything aside and help the gir--dark witch.  She had to be careful. Obviously it was her maternal instinct kicking in, because she was feeling a powerful urge to feed Amy, like, chicken noodle soup or something.

_ Who am I kidding? _ Piper had always wanted to feed people. She loved to cook.

“I'm a Watcher,” the Brit began. “My name is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce,”

“You can just call him 'Wes',” Faith cut in, but Wesley ignored her.

“Watchers train Slayers, and assist them by serving in research, helping them figure out how to defeat the various demons they come across,” Wesley explained. Piper nodded, understanding. Basically, he was a walking Book of Shadows. Made sense. The times they had to fight enemies that didn't have an entry were a lot harder because they had no idea about the demon's weaknesses, strengths, habits... anything.

“Anyway, there is a great deal we could share in the way of information, including the fact that you and your sisters apparently vanquished the  _ Source of All Evil _ , but that isn't why we're here. Questions and answers there can wait, I think.” Wesley looked over to Amy for a moment, and Piper's gaze followed his. Faith had put her hand on Amy's shoulder, squeezing it, obviously trying to comfort her, but the whole motion came off as awkward, unsure, maybe even a little forced.

Piper could tell that this Faith girl obviously wasn't used to physical contact, orc omforting people, or even displaying concern and emotion. But equally obvious was the worry written across her face, the way Faith was actually biting her lip just a little – if only for a few seconds – as she watched Amy almost curl in on herself even more.  Piper’s role as the middle sister had given her plenty of practice in reading others, and here was a woman who was giving off a hundred little ‘tells.’

Piper looked over her shoulder at her  husband, and was unsurprised to see that he wasn't looking at Amy with hostility anymore.  _ Like I said, a stiff breeze could knock her over. _ It was hard to be worried about her at that point.

“Right. You said that she needed Leo's help.”

“ Whitelighters guide and help witches, but we're not in the habit of helping dark ones,” Leo replied, but he was more... earnest than angry. On some level, her husband wanted to help Amy. That's just who he was.

“Amy's not evil!” Faith protested for the second time, glaring at Leo. “She's just... she's just fucked up.” Her voice lowered to a soft almost-whisper. “She screwed up... made mistakes and now she needs help. Doesn't make her evil--doesn't mean she can't get better... Do better.” Piper raised an eyebrow, trying to place what it was she was hearing in Faith's tone.

“The short version,” Wesley cut in, “is that Miss Madison here is... addicted to a rather potent magical drug, and it has -- like most addictions -- quite ruined her life. She wants to get clean, but the psychological effects of the withdrawal are compounded by all the dark magic that clings to her aura. Which, you,  Mr. ..”

“Wyatt. But just call me Leo,” the  Whitelighter supplied, and Wesley nodded.

“Which you saw, Leo. Miss Madison... Amy has done questionable things with her magic, in recent months, but... well, while I'm not as vehement on the subject as Faith, I would agree that fundamentally, she is not evil and not irredeemable. She has made bad choices, but... that shouldn't damn her to total destruction at the hands of her addiction.” Wesley started to say something else, but then Faith cut in again. Wesley closed his mouth and gave Piper a look that was a shrug without actually being one.

“Just a couple nights ago, Amy was ready to let a  fuckin' vampire have her for dinner, okay?” Faith shook her head.  “She's harmless to you guys.”

“More or less, she is,” Wesley agreed. “We just need your help, Leo.  _ She _ needs your help. As long as all that dark magic is on her aura... she's not going to be able to recover from this addiction very easily. The two are--”

“Feeding on each  other , yes, I can see that,” Leo said. “What exactly did she do to get all that in the first place? Dark magic isn't exactly something you just stumble into.”

“Surviving,” Amy said softly, speaking for the first time since she'd come into the house. “After... it's a long story, but I didn't have... money or... a place to stay... anything to eat. Used magic to... make people not notice I was taking things.” Amy tried to take a deep breath, but the action was ruined by a shudder. A few shallow breaths later, the girl continued, sounding even more... well, pathetic, than before.

“Made my landlord think I'd actually paid my rent... not many other options for a drug-addicted, legally-dead, didn't-graduate-high-school-because-she-was-a-rat-for-three-years witch.” Amy shook her head, “No. That's-” She bit her lip and hunched her shoulders forward, a small cry of pain escaping her. “That's just excuses... I know... I know it was wrong. All of it. I just...”

“I just wanted to forget.” Amy finished softly. She trailed off, and Faith wrapped her arms around Amy's waist, almost pulling other girl into her lap, holding her close. Piper blinked.  _ I didn't realize they were together. _ But it would make sense as to why the Slayer was so determined to help this nominally 'evil' witch.

Whatever the reason, Piper was  hesitant . Helping people was what they did. Helping people was what  Whitelighters did. Leo's own instincts were probably telling him to help her.

“How exactly can Leo help? I don't think this is something you do with normal healing. And I don't think he has a dark magic  vacuum or anything like that up his sleeve,” She looked over at him, smiling a little at the absurdity of the thought. “You don't, do you? Because that could have been pretty useful before now.”

“I don't,” Leo said smiling back a little, then he looked over at Amy. “Losing dark magic... just don't use it, is the basic way. It wears off, eventually. But that much... and with this... thing, addiction wearing on her as well...” He shook his head. “Yeah, I can see the problem. There are things I might be able to do to help speed up the process. Maybe. I've never actually  _ done _ it. But sometimes  a Whitelighter ’ s charges do need help, when they make mistakes.”

“Wouldn't know. Never had a  Whitelighter ,” Amy cut in after another small cry of pain that almost had her fall off the couch. Piper was wincing at the sound, at the pain almost visibly coming off of her. “My family... not good witches.”

**May 7th, 2002**

**1329 Prescott Street, San Francisco**

_ Not good witches. _ Another time, Amy might have chuckled at the level of understatement in her words. It was hard to tell, really, if it went any further back her than grandmother, but Amy guessed her family tree had more than just two dark, nasty witches to show for it. Probably nothing but dark witches up her entire maternal line.  _ Which means I'm just as fucking damned as they all are, so why the hell am I even trying? _

She didn't hurt as much, for the moment, thanks to Wesley's little spell, but that didn't do anything about how cold she felt, how sick she felt, the hunger gnawing at her.

And ever since the Whitelighter had shown up, Amy had felt... itchy. Like she was wearing a wool sweater or something. Just a minor thing, but on top of everything else...

_ One more thing I get to thank my own  _ **_wonderful_ ** _ decision making for. _

Faith's arms around her waist weren't really doing anything for the feeling of cold, since it wasn't skin to skin contact, but...

“That would explain a few things,” Leo observed. “Regardless, even if I can do this – even if I  _ do _ do this, there's a lot more dark magic on you than this process is designed to deal with. And it won't be easy.”

“Easy hasn't described my life in months,” Amy said dully. “Anything that can help me... I don't care if it hurts. It has to be better than this.” She knew how that sounded, or at least how it could sound. Like bravado, or being blasé about it. That wasn't what it was.

As far as Amy was concerned, her choices were either die or get better. She couldn't live like this. She couldn't live with this need and hunger. She couldn't live with herself if she hurt or manipulated (or both) Faith every morning to try and get free, to get back to Rack.

She couldn't live with herself  _ wanting _ to go back to Rack. To begging him for another hit.

And it would be just like that sick, horrible monster of a man to demand she do something--she had no idea what--even  _ more _ degrading and humiliating than he already had, to show her the price for trying to get clean.

“Just because I can doesn't mean I will,” Leo said, his voice turning stern. “Yes, it's obvious that you need help, and Piper's right: you don't seem all that dangerous right now.,  But my responsibility as a Whitelighter is to my charges. And if there's even a chance you could be a threat to them, to the sisters, to my wife... No.”

Piper looked over at her husband.  “I can take care of myself you know. If she causes problems I can just, y'know, freeze her.”  _ She can do that? _ She’d known that the Charmed Ones were supposed to have specific powers, beyond just casting spells, something they could do all the time, without it costing them any energy. Casting a spell to hold someone in place.... that was difficult at best, and it was far, far from permanent.

“I don't... I don't want to cause trouble.  I promise,” Amy said softly, wondering what she could do to convince the Whitelighter – Leo – of that. “I just... I just...” Amy shivered and bit her lip as she felt her stomach start to want to heave. Not that she had much to expel, but her body wanted to get rid of it nonetheless.

“Look, you useless son of a--” Faith started, but then she cut herself off, taking a deep breath. “Amy needs help, okay? She's not evil, she's not gonna hurt anyone.” Amy closed her eyes, wishing she could muster the energy to defend herself...

But what defense was there to give? She'd stolen, messed with people's minds... there was no defense there. It was all minor manipulations, really short false memories that barely counted. But...

Messing with people's minds? That was wrong. She'd known it was.

_ I had other options, right? _ It hadn't seemed like it the time, but she really did. The fact that she hadn't taken them...

_ I am dark, that's the whole damn problem. _ Amidst her self-recriminations, she heard Faith, Wesley, Piper and Leo talking; about her, she guessed, but she couldn't make out their words. It almost sounded like she was on the other side of thick glass as they spoke – she heard noises, voices, but nothing distinct. Nothing specific. Nothing she could actually make out...

Amy stopped really paying attention to the world around her, or even thinking anything coherent, as she felt another wave of nausea. She doubled over, not escaping Faith's grip, but she was bent anyway, dry heaving out onto the floor before her.

The hunger was still gnawing, it grew with every heave, taking up space as she vacated her stomach – that was the only way she could describe it, even if nothing was coming up.... her entire world was her nausea, and hunger...

She had no idea how long she kept it up, how many times she heaved, but eventually, she felt her stomach settle a little and she opened her eyes slowly, trying to straighten up. She only really managed it with Faith's help, the Slayer more or less settling Amy in her lap completely. It was more than a little strange, since she was taller than the other girl, but...

Once more, in Faith's arms, her body against the other woman's... she felt safe. She felt... like maybe there was a chance, a tiny chance, that she...

“... there will be conditions... but yes... I'll hel,.” she heard Leo saying, and Amy blinked, wondering suddenly just how much she'd missed, what had been said...

“And what conditions would we be talking about?” Wesley asked, his voice cool and level and all clipped, stereotypically 'British'.

Part of Amy just wanted to say she agreed, whatever they were. But... well... she couldn't. Even if this Whitelighter, guardian angel for good witches that he was, was hardly going to make her do anything like what Rack had...

Saying she'd do  _ anything _ , without qualifier...

“She'll need to be close. She can't exactly stay here  - there's no room – but there's a place for rent just down the block, you might be able to get that. This... this is a situation that will need to be monitored carefully. Her progress, what she does, how she does it... I'll need to be able to check on her, and know where she is. It's easier if she's close.”

“Done,” Wesley agreed for her. He and Faith were the ones who would have to be paying for any such rental, so... it really wasn't up to her.

“You're going to have to promise to not use magic except in defense of your own life or of other people,” Leo said. “Even for small things, except for the white magic spells I have you cast to help with clearing off your aura. Even the most minor use of magic done the wrong way at the wrong time could mess this up. It's a delicate process.”

Amy blinked. Not use magic, even for small things? She'd... she'd used magic for so many things. Minor things – less so recently, because she'd lacked the presence of mind to do anything but continue existing in her half-life state, but...

She'd just used magic this morning, trying to get Faith to let her go...

Could she just stop... could she just not use it?

“I...” Amy swallowed.

She wanted to agree. If this was a condition, she had to agree. But...

_ I can't... _ She didn't have that much control. Wasn't that the whole fucking problem?

“I can...” Amy inhaled sharply, “I can... I can try?” She said quietly, then she raised her voice, trying to speak more firmly. “I can try.”

“Try as hard as you can,” Leo admonished. “Like I said: delicate process. Lastly... “ He looked to Wesley and Faith.  “When you can, when your talents make it possible, you two have to help Piper and her sisters as much as possible.”

Faith shrugged – Amy didn't see it, of course, but she felt the movement. “You guys are supposed to be good witches fighting demons and all that shit. Don't see the problem helping you out.”

“Leo, we can handle ourselves,” Piper protested.  Then she looked over at Faith. “Not that I'm saying we don't want your help if you want to or anything, but--”

“Piper, please. I know you can take care of yourself, but there's absolutely no reason to not take the help when it's here.” Leo took his wife's hands in his, gently rubbing the back of them with his thumbs for a moment.

“Like I said, it's cool. I'm a Slayer. Fighting demons is kind of my job.”

“Well, it  _ is _ your job, not 'kind of', Faith. I can't imagine the Council would like the prospect of paying you to do nothing. And then there's the entirely different discussion--”

“Wes, I don't think we need to bring up what I think you're gonna bring up right now, okay?” Faith interrupted, and Amy realized what Faith at least assumed Wesley was suggesting. Her prison time, the whole reason she was even let out – redeem herself fighting demons.

“I'll help with the fighting demons. You and your sisters can do the magic and I can beat them up,” Faith finished, and Piper shrugged after a moment.

“Then I guess we have a deal. We'll start tomorrow.... I need to make sure I know how to do this before we start,” Leo said, the firmness and confidence slipping from his voice a little. “And I'll drop by your sisters and let them know about this.”

“Bring Phoebe her lunch!” Piper said.  “She's probably already forgotten that she didn't bring it, and just worked right through.”


End file.
